Petrichor
by Huinari
Summary: Tomoe Hotaru is a reincarnated princess of Saturn who has died more than once, protects the solar system, and can destroy the world. Somehow she is NOT the weirdest person to live in Namimori.
1. Acheron

The time around Hotaru had always been a little warped, but Setsuna, who had first noticed it, and the others assumed it was a normal thing. The awakening of the star seeds within the senshi meant they were given their own form of eternal youth, allowing them to bypass the regular flow and effects of time. In the eyes of Sailor Pluto, they all had a bit of odd twists in their times.

Not only that, but Hotaru had also aged rapidly to fight as Sailor Saturn. If her time was 'regular', that would be an abnormality in itself. Setsuna kept an eye on Hotaru's growth, but other than the massive growth spurt she went through to fight alongside them, she seemed fine, so Setsuna let herself relax.

Except, over a year after the incident with Chaos and Chibi-Usa's return to her own time, it wasn't just the odd twist in the flow of time around Hotaru's body that was a concern.

Rather, her body remaining unchanged was the bigger issue. Her hair and nails had slowed growing before stopping altogether. Her height didn't change.

She was frozen at the physical age of eleven. Had this happened at the arrival of Crystal Tokyo, it might have been more understandable, but it was too early – both for the world, and for Hotaru, not yet fully matured.

Setsuna and Ami put their heads together, and came to the conclusion that it was a side effect of going through rapid growth. Since she had aged up so quickly, now her body was taking a 'break' and had stopped aging altogether.

"It might be similar to what Small Lady went through in her own timeline," Setsuna said thoughtfully. "I have limited memories from myself in that parallel world on just what happened, but I know something happened that kept her from physically aging to adulthood for nine hundred years."

And only after coming to their time did the princess from a future timeline start growing, bit by bit.

Having something in common with her best friend didn't reassure her now, not when Chibi-Usa was no longer here. Hotaru looked down at her body and sighed.

"Can we fix it?" Usagi asked, concern clear in her eyes. She looked ready to pull out the Silver Crystal and begin showering the senshi of silence with its magic light the moment she was given the okay.

Ami bit her lip. "The thing is, I don't think it's something that needs to be fixed. It's actually her body's way of trying to protect itself."

If it was her body's way of making up for lost time, there was no point on relying on the Legendary Silver Crystal.

Setsuna nodded. "Left alone, she will eventually recover without any aftereffects and start aging normally again."

As if to laugh in the faces of their hypothesis, however, transformations soon began to cause Hotaru pain. It was a pain she unfortunately remembered, that of her body being forced to disintegrate. With the feeling of her body being broken down drained away her powers as Sailor Saturn. Hotaru had to sit out on the occasional fights that came along, but soon the pains came more frequently. It hurt her when the others were fighting, two blocks away. She felt it when they were fighting in the city somewhere, pangs of agony resonating through her body from her very soul. She shuddered with pain when they transformed.

It came to the point that being around the other senshi, even when they were civilians, caused her pain. The other guardians were helpless as Hotaru silently suffered, her usually pale face absolutely bloodless and gaunt, lips torn apart from her biting at them to not scream. To help her was to stay away, but that meant she had to be alone. And yet if they drew close to her, wanting to keep her company, it caused her more pain than it did any good.

Ami described it as an allergic reaction to the concerned senshi.

"Basically, her powers need a chance to mature properly," she explained. "Hotaru aged at an accelerated rate so she could fight at our side when there were enemies of a large scale like before, but in a time of peace, warriors don't need to fight, which means her body now needs to catch up to the growth before she can use it safely."

She typed some things onto her computer, and projected images of the solar system above their heads. Within the model of each of their planets shone the star seeds. Sapphire, amber, gold and silver, ruby, emerald, amethyst, ultramarine, aquamarine and garnet.

Familiar colors, familiar sights that left their hearts pang with a longing for a home they had not known in this life.

"The problem is most of us were physically matured enough when we became senshi, and later gained access to our planet crystals. Hotaru, though . . ."

Hotaru had been robbed of her own body before it was destroyed by the parasite that had taken over. Then, Sailor Saturn, lacking a form of flesh and blood emerged from the ruin of her body as a soul before throwing herself along with Master Pharaoh 90 beyond the dark dome to rid the world of his abominable presence, and was given a second life as an infant by their queen and messiah. Except that infant had then grown rapidly to fight and been robbed of the wellspring of her power by Galaxia and melted into the cauldron where all star seeds began, and while the Legendary Silver Crystal had restored them all, it didn't change the fact that Hotaru had been through a lot.

Sailor Saturn had never been very active in their previous lives, and the powers of destruction needed a vessel strong enough to host it. Until Hotaru caught up to her borrowed time and her body's balance was restored, it would remain dormant within her soul.

But with her powers needing rest, it left the yet-mortal body of Saturn's reincarnated princess vulnerable – to the influences of the other planets, not just foes that wished her harm. As a senshi she could stand her own against their influence, but when Sailor Saturn could not be called, they weren't on equal footings in terms of power.

There was a reason why during the Silver Millennium, the princesses of the planets were kept on their home castles until they were awakened to their own power, capable of using their birthrights. To affect each other's domains was to affect their own souls.

And Hotaru's soul was defenseless against the might of her fellow senshi at the moment. It reacted to let its host know of the dangers, much like the body's own mechanism of defense. It alerted her with pain, as her bared soul struggled at the exposure to power not of its own birthright. No matter the intentions behind those who possessed it, her very being recognized the other senshi's powers to be a threat to itself and rejected it with all its might.

Truly, it was an allergic reaction.

The best method, of course, would be to remove Hotaru from the 'allergens'. Elysion was offered as a sanctuary by Mamoru. She would be able to hide away there and not have to worry about suspicions regarding her unchanging age. She would also be safe, watched over by Helios and the ancient magic that warded the former capital.

Kind as the offer was, however, to be in the slumbering sacred land was to be forced to be in an enchanted sleep as well, and Hotaru protested to that.

"I can live alone," she volunteered. "At a – a dormitory. Or a homestay. I can go overseas if I need to. Just don't make me stay in Elysion by myself."

She protested to it quietly and meekly, but the senshi had already scrapped that option. Hotaru had suffered as silently as she could so as to not inconvenience them. They weren't going to let their youngest be forced to sleep again, all by herself.

Helios – woken from his own dreams at the call of his prince – agreed, though for a different reason.

"The enchanted slumber of Elysion would also slow down the time flowing around her," he explained, reminding them all of the flaw in that idea. "It would effectively increase the time she spends recovering."

He did, however, offer a solution.

"My prince," he said to Mamoru. In the crowded apartment of the Chiba-Tsukino couple, he seemed out of place with his faint coloring and clothing from another era, but he stood without concern for such things. "How much of your former life do you remember?"

Like most of the senshi, Mamoru remembered some, but not all. Serenity, the identities of his guardians, details of life as a prince in a castle that no longer existed. Fighting. Laughing. Weeping. Dying.

Helios nodded as if he had expected this answer. "We did not want to approach you until you could call us yourself," he said. "For myself, the dream world was under threat from Nehellenia, and my hand was forced. But the others . . . ."

"The others?" Mamoru looked alarmed. "'We'?"

"The Shitennou were your generals and guards," Helios murmured, before his voice took on a touch of mournfulness. "Powerful knights worthy of the title 'guardians'. It was why Beryl and Metallia targeted them. But they were not the only ones called as such on Terra."

Mamoru and the other senshi paid close attention at this revelation. On the other side of the communicator, in her own room at the house she lived in with her parents, Hotaru also listened in, unable to physically be there without collapsing in pain. Even this distance wasn't enough to stop the pain completely, but at least she could still listen to the discussion and pay attention to what was being said.

"Guardians like you?" Ami asked, astute as always in picking through his words and analyzing possible outcomes of where he was heading.

"Like myself," Helios agreed. "I have little offensive capacities, but I was a priest, and therefore responsible for the purified state of Elysion and the realm of dreams that sustained its magic. There were others like me, responsible for . . . areas not involving direct combat."

Mamoru noticed the pause and felt as if there had been something else Helios wanted to say, but the choice in word drew his attention more. "'Were'?"

Helios smiled, a little helplessly. "I was a special case, my prince. They were long-lived, inheritors of Terra's lost magic who bore their torches to the best of their abilities, but a great deal of time had passed since the fall of the Silver Millennium. As of now, only one of the original guardians other than myself remain."

That revelation shook Mamoru, anyone could see. Usagi wordlessly held his hand and tucked herself into his side while he pulled himself back together. His grip on her hand was hard, almost painful, and she bore it without complaint.

"And the last guardian remaining?" Setsuna asked. She, too, could begin to see why Helios had brought this up.

"He was called Acheron back then," Helios answered. "He was tasked with keeping the balance of the world until you were reborn, my prince."

"Acheron," Mamoru tried the unfamiliar name, and could not remember anything from his previous life. It left a bit of bitterness in his mouth, that he was so disconnected from his own planet and memories.

"He goes by a different name in the present – that was his way of keeping himself alive, through the years, walking among mortals and passing his days watching the balance of the world." Helios brushed his hair out of his eyes, older than the age he appeared to be. "He will be honoured to aid the guardian of silence in her current plight."

Haruka looked doubtful, unable to trust someone she had never met or known about until this moment with the care of her adopted daughter. "Can we trust him?"

Michiru also had questions of her own. "And are we sure that his presence won't hurt Hotaru?"

"He would not harm one of the princess's guardians," Helios insisted. "And we are not on par with bearers of star seeds – our presences will not register as a threat to Saturn's soul."

It was a valid theory, Ami agreed after some thought.

"I still want to meet him," Haruka grumbled, not looking convinced even with Ami's word to back him up.

"I would also like to meet him," Mamoru added.

Helios looked at his prince apologetically. "My prince, he would prefer not to meet you until you regain your memories of him."

The rejection was gentle, but it was still a terrible blow to him. The blood drained out of his face at that, and Mamoru rubbed at the lower half of his face, conflicted.

"Does he resent me?" he said at last, unable to hold back the question despite fearing the answer that may come.

Usagi held tight to Mamoru like he would collapse if she didn't. She might not have been wrong about that, in a way.

The priest's eyes widened in surprise. "No!" he shouted, before he flinched back. "No. He doesn't resent you. But Acheron, for all that he can be obfuscating, has his reasons. He would rather not risk his presence forcing your memories back."

"And if they never come back?" Mamoru asked. It had been years since he had first donned an enchanted tuxedo and started running around as Tuxedo Mask, haunted by dreams that insisted they were real. Years since he had learned of his previous life, and still much of his past's memories were locked away.

"They will," Helios assured. "At least, the important parts."

Mamoru did not like it. He really didn't.

But he understood. While he wanted to meet the guardian he had not remembered, he could respect his wishes.

Without him, Hotaru was introduced by Helios – whose presence did not bring out the reaction the senshi did like he had promised – to the survivor of the Silver Millennium called Acheron.

"That's a name I haven't heard in a while," the man muttered, running a hand through his shaggy white hair, after Helios had faded away. He looked mortal, and more importantly he looked like a normal young man who spent most of his days at ease without care for much, not a guardian of ancient magic. His plain kimono was worn in the way only clothes that had been often-worn could, and a pair of round glasses glinted on his face. "I currently go by Kawahira Riku. A pleasure to meet you, Princess Saturn."

She took his offered hand, large with bony fingers, and shook it. One of the fingers had a ring on it, but the metal was cold to the touch. "I'm Tomoe Hotaru, Kawahira-san."

Haruka didn't trust him. Michiru was hesitant.

Setsuna, however, had spoken to him at length in private, and she refused to share the details of her conversation with anyone. But she did say that Hotaru would be in good hands with Kawahira, and while Uranus was their leader, when Pluto spoke with advice they listened.

Hotaru packed her bags and moved into the rooms on the third floor.

"I live on the second floor with my 'grandmother'," he said, putting emphasis on the last word. "She is not aware of my true identity, and I prefer to keep it that way."

"I understand," Hotaru said. It would be hard to explain, she knew all too well from watching the others keep their identities from their families. In that sense she was lucky – her current family all knew of who she was, both sides of her.

Kawahira nodded, and while his expression didn't change there was a more approving air about him then.

"Welcome to Namimori, Tomoe-chan," he announced in his lilting voice. "It's a fairly peaceful town, most of the time."

* * *

AN: A 'Hey what if Checker-Face and Sephira were survivors of the SilMil' story where Tomoe Hotaru gets the spotlight (and therefore the misery that comes with getting Huinari's attention). SM is over and the only change to the canon there is that Usagi and Mamoru did not give birth to Chibi-Usa yet.

Basically my attempt at answering the unanswered questions I had about KHR (so what up with Kawahira and Talbot what) and SM (exactly how is the entire Earth going to accept a queen that's going to rule over them like forever in the future).

Sweet Dreams~


	2. Granny

Namimori was peaceful, as Kawahira had promised, from the glance of it she had caught before entering the Kawahira home, two stories above a worn-down realtor's office. It was peaceful in that it was more suburban than the Juban district. More houses than apartments and skyscrapers, and far less people. There was a more open air in the town, and far less background noise, even in 'downtown' Namimori.

The lack of the white noise she was so used to disconcerted her, but not necessarily in the bad way.

She was too focused on the lack of pain and the fear of being somewhere new without any of her fellow senshi to really be disturbed by noise and lack thereof, anyways. It was freeing, and her body felt lighter than it had in months due to the lack of chronic pain. It was a great feeling, to not be suffering from the pain of her soul screaming and shaking in her own body.

And yet her shoulders were heavy, burdened with the terrifying fear that came from being alone. One step forwards, and she felt like she could just launch herself into the air, like she could as Saturn – only to revert to Hotaru and fall to the ground like an angel robbed of his wings as punishment for defying the natural laws.

Liberty and despair. Healed and alone.

Having experienced both a pain that cut to the soul and the cold sensation of being alone in the world, Hotaru couldn't say for sure which was worse, only that both were utterly terrible and not something she would wish upon anyone easily, let alone herself.

And yet here she was. Clutching at the sheets she was spreading over her new bed – familiar, because she had brought them from home, had been picked by Setsuna-mama because they suited her bedroom but now was in an unfamiliar room – and scared of being left alone.

"I can still call them," she mumbled, reminding herself that they hadn't left her, not really. The day she left Juban, they had all cried. Usagi bawling her eyes out as she clutched at a red-eyed Rei, wanting to hug Hotaru and not being able to lest it overwhelm her. Setsuna, silent tears running down her dark cheeks. Michiru weeping into Haruka's shoulder and Haruka looking like she wanted to fight the world with her bare hands. Makoto sniffling as she spoke from afar about all the food she'd send her, every week, so Hotaru had better be eating and staying healthy or else. Ami handing over papers neatly stapled together regarding health concerns she needed to be aware of and promising she would fax over anything else that came up. Minako, snatching the papers and shoving them into a box she claimed were filled with things from all of them so Hotaru would be prepared, no matter what – and then breaking off to join the rest of the senshi in crying.

They hadn't wanted her to go. They had cried for her.

They loved her, they wouldn't forget her while she was gone, she wouldn't be alone forever.

That was the thought that would sustain her through however long she needed to stay in Namimori.

Someone knocked on the door, and Hotaru quickly rolled off her bed. Hair fixed into a decent state after a quick finger-combing, she opened the door.

Kawahira, leaning against the wall like that small effort required to keep him upright was too great for him to bear, gave a small wave of his hand.

"Granny's back," he mumbled. "She wants to meet you."

Hotaru followed him as he shuffled down the stairs. In the kitchen, a tiny old lady in a pink kimono was unloading a grocery cart into the refrigerator.

"Riku," she said without looking back. "I'm making miso soup and fish. You didn't eat ramen again, did you?"

"No, Granny," he answered obligingly, but Hotaru, behind him, saw him cross his fingers.

Finally done with emptying her cart, the old woman turned around. Her face was deeply lined, but her eyes were keen and sharp, and they immediately landed on Hotaru.

"Is this her?" she barked. Hotaru nearly flinched at the force behind her sharp words.

"Yup." Kawahira popped the 'p' sound.

The grandmother marched over to Hotaru with the force of someone on the warpath, and after putting on a pair of glasses she whipped out from her pocket, scanned her over once.

"You're too skinny," she said bluntly, sharing her conclusion with her immediately. "Good spirits, what have they been feeding you where you came from?"

"Food?" Hotaru blurted out the answer, and then flushed, because that was a response that could be interpreted as sass. "I just – I don't usually eat much."

She had always eaten small amounts, even during the growth spurts. That had worried all of her parents and the rest of the sailor scouts, and it hadn't been uncommon for them to carry around snacks to feed her at any given time they met. And recently, she hadn't been eating well at all. Appetite was hardly present when the soul was in threat of crumbling at the edges.

"Hmph," said Granny Kawahira, with a critical eye glittering behind her glasses. "Well, you need more meat on your bones." She waved a bony finger towards Kawahira, who stood with a bland look on his face through the whole exchange. "Don't go feeding her ramen until she gets some meat on her bones."

"Yes, Granny," he replied obediently, with the enthusiasm of a napping donkey.

"What is your name?"

The old lady was a very forceful woman with an ironclad way of doing things, Hotaru was beginning to realize. "Tomoe Hotaru, ma'am."

"None of that 'ma'am' stuff," she said brusquely. "It's Granny, or Granny Kawahira."

"Yes, Granny." The only 'old' person in her life so far had been Rei's grandfather. Granny Kawahira was definitely not like the old priest, but not in a bad way.

"Go wash up," Granny ordered. "And come down for dinner. I want to see you eat everything in front of you."

Kawahira shot her a very sympathetic look before his grandmother's voice cracked down on him as well. "That goes for you, too, Riku! Not a single grain of rice left behind!"

"Aw, Granny."

Hotaru quietly climbed up the stairs as the old lady began to scold her grandson about how he should know better than to eat so much ramen at such a young age. Her cover story was that she was an orphan that had suddenly grown allergic to city life and could not stay with any of her cousins, as they all had jobs in the city. She needed to stay in a more peaceful environment, one less urban, and so she had come to Namimori.

"It's not even a lie, if you think about it," Kawahira had said with a shrug. Hotaru was given the impression, from his lack of concern, that he might have just stuck to that 'cover story' out of sheer laziness.

But no one would question her history or background when they couldn't recall her remaining the same age as time passed. Kawahira's magic would ensure no one really noticed that oddity, even as she walked through the town.

"I do it all the time," he stated when she asked about how it would work. "Sometimes I forget to change my appearance for a century, and witch hunts get annoying. Besides, people usually aren't very observant in the first place."

Hotaru washed her hands and her face, and then went back down to see if she could help with dinner. Kawahira was still being scolded, and while he answered in the affirmative as a sign of engagement, he also seemed a little bored.

Like a teenager rolling his eyes and answering 'yes, Mom' to a nagging mom in the most monotone voice he could manage, Hotaru thought. The idea amused her, and she had to fight the tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Can I help?" she offered when the scolding ended with a 'wash your hands'. Efficiently, Granny Kawahira had made sure to start up the miso soup while lecturing her grandson.

Granny nodded briskly and pointed. "Set the table. The chopsticks are in the first drawer."

Hotaru grabbed three sets of the chopsticks, battered and scratched-up metal ones that took a while to match, and set them at the table after dampening a clean washcloth and wiping down the surface.

"Meat on your bones," the old woman muttered. "What's your favorite food?"

The last question came like a cracking whip, sharp and quick and sudden. "Soba noodles, Granny."

The old woman snorted and rolled her eyes. "Of course it is."

Buckwheat noodles weren't exactly the best food of choice for putting 'meat on her bones', that Hotaru would admit.

"Girls your age shouldn't be dieting," Granny complained. "All sticks and skin, and blown over at the gust of a wind, I swear."

Hotaru didn't tell her that she didn't diet. It wouldn't have convinced her, and only sounded like an excuse.

She tasted the soup, and nodded approvingly. "You work on fattening up, and making your own life. Don't let no one else tell you what your worth is. They made a dumb mistake, losing you, and that's all you need to think."

The turn in conversation confused her, and it took her a second to understand. _Oh_ , Hotaru thought, going over what the grandmother supposedly knew about her history. _She thinks that I was abandoned._

"It's not like that, or their fault," she protested. "I – I had an allergy, staying was hurting me so I needed to go."

"And they couldn't come with you?" Granny raised a silver eyebrow, disapproving towards the women she had never met because she thought they had abandoned a young girl.

But they hadn't. They had wanted to stay with her. It was just that . . .

"I'm the problem," Hotaru whispered.

A gnarled hand landed on her shoulder and forcibly pulled her up.

"You listen up," Granny ordered, fire in her eyes. "You are not the problem. Repeat that. You are not the problem."

Hotaru shook her head. The woman meant well, she really did, but she didn't understand. Hotaru had brought this on herself.

"They cried," she said.

And wasn't that a sin, that she had made her future queen cry like her heart would break? That her fellow guardians, who already had burdens too great for them resting on their shoulders, have one more weight to carry because of her?

"I was allergic to them and they cried because it hurt me to be near them even if I loved them so much. I was the problem, I shouldn't have –" Hotaru inhaled sharply and the breath caught, cutting her off.

She shouldn't have?

"I grew up too fast," she whispered. "Because I wanted to – to stand with them."

Because she had wanted to fight at their side, but the body of a five-year-old had been too young to fight. Saturn had pushed herself further, releasing more of her magic and letting it condense the time around until she was old enough to be fighting. Still the youngest among them all – but they were all young, and she was still able to fight thanks to the choice she had made. Fight at the sides of the people she belonged with – at the side of Chibi-Usa, the first to change Saturn.

And that choice had come with a price.

Her cheeks were wet.

"I didn't want to go and they didn't want to watch me leave but it hurt so much." Hotaru hiccoughed, not bothering to wipe them, not when they'd just become wet again.

She shouldn't have?

The price had been paid in the currency she was most reluctant to part with – that of time spent with her loved ones. To reach out with a hand and know someone would take it, to have the warmth of another person's presence and loving smile guaranteed in her life, to be aware of just how colorful her life could be painted with the love she received and could give.

That was her price, for forcing things along, and it was a terrible price.

She shouldn't have? Shouldn't have made the choice to accelerate her aging?

. . . No.

Hotaru wouldn't change a thing, if she went back in time. She wouldn't have sat out in the fights that followed, fighting with everyone against the threat to their princess, their planet, she wouldn't have missed her time with Chibi-Usa for anything in the world. If she found herself in the same situation, faced with the same choice, Hotaru knew she would have chosen to fight once more.

But knowing that, and still being alone and miserable were two different things, because while there weren't exactly threats to Earth that required them to all come and fight, she was doing exactly what she hadn't wanted to do – sit out on the sidelines, away from everyone else. By Selene, she missed them all so much, and she hated that she was incapacitated, making her helpless and useless.

She shouldn't have – made them cry. Even if she secretly drew relief from their tears, reassured in a way that they would truly miss her, she shouldn't have made them cry.

How terrible of her, to find it comforting that they cried for her.

An arm wrapped around her shoulder and tugged her down to a seat.

"Fine," the old woman said gruffly. "So they're not that bad. But you still listen to Granny when she says it's not your fault."

She wiped away the tears from her eyes and nodded. "I'm sorry for my outburst."

Maybe she truly had been on an edge, to have confided in someone she had just met like this. It was rather unlike her.

"Nonsense," Granny said crisply. "Tears are healthy. Never bottle them up – that's the stupidest thing anyone could do. Cry and scream and yell to live long, I always say – look at me, I'm ancient, and I don't care to hold my tongue at anything and anyone, and I've never enjoyed better health in my life."

A startled laugh escaped from Hotaru's lips, almost like a sigh.

"There you go. Don't hold back, girl – you're already here because of poor health, the last thing you need is adding to that."

Maybe she had a point.

"Can I come in now?" Kawahira called from outside the kitchen.

Granny scowled. "Riku, what do you do with your eyes and ears, boy? Don't ruin the moment!"

"That's why I asked, Granny," he protested mildly, shuffling into the kitchen with his hands raised at chest level. "Is the food ready?"

The old woman grabbed some bowls and began to fill them. Hotaru rose up so she could move them to the table. She needed something to do.

"Be more like Hotaru-kun, you ramen addict," Granny snapped at Kawahira as she shoved him down into a seat.

"Tomoe-chan is cute, but not the type I want to be like," he mumbled, not protesting to her rough treatment of him. "I think that would make me gross. Or a pervert."

Rice and side dishes also put into bowls and placed on the table, Granny nodded at her sharply, a silent okay for her to sit. The food was simple, but good in the homemade-sense. The miso was rich and warmed her insides, and the pickled plums were the best she'd ever had.

"You like soba noodles. What else?"

Hotaru swallowed before answering. "I . . . eat anything I'm given. Except milk." She didn't like milk, usually ended up taking calcium supplements as well as multi-vitamins to make up for it.

"Bones, girl, bones," Granny said with a shake of her head.

"What about ramen?" Kawahira offered, contributing his own two cents.

"They're okay." She didn't have them very often, to be honest, but they were fine.

But her words sparked something in the man, whose eyes blazed behind the lenses of his glasses.

"Ramen is not just okay," Kawahira insisted, the most passionate she had seen him yet. "Ramen is the food of gods. Or it should be, anyways."

As someone who had been called a god – and a goddess of destruction at that – in her previous life, Hotaru couldn't really agree with him.

Granny made a gesture, as if to throw her chopsticks towards his head. "It's cheap instant food. You'll get high blood pressure from all that salt one day and then you'll regret it."

"I could never regret ramen," pronounced Kawahira with sincerity one usually reserved for swearing an oath in court. "And it's not just cheap instant food, Granny, you know I only eat the ramen made by experts of the craft."

She snorted. "It's salt and fat and noodles, Riku, you stop talking back to your Granny before you further convince me of how your brain's been replaced by ramen."

Hotaru ate all the food, as ordered. It was delicious and she made sure to tell Granny that.

The old lady clucked her tongue. "You barely ate anything," she chided. "Meat on your bones."

But she did reach up to pat her on her head and shuffled away, slippers dragging against the ground.

Her footsteps, when climbing up the stairs after putting the bowls away, were just a bit lighter.

* * *

AN: I came early because I put in a commission for the fic and it came today and I'm super happy and anyone interested in this story should be too because that means I'm now financially invested in it, meaning I have to finish it.

It's a spoiler for the pairing I had in mind for this story and it's going to take us a while to get there but oh well I wasn't going to miss the chance.

Cover image by SweetRachel at daily-sweets on Tumblr.

Sweet Dreams~


	3. Helios

Most took the form they were used to, their subconscious views of themselves in their dreams. If they hated themselves, they were at their worst, tormented even in the realm of dreams turned nightmarish by their own suffering. If they were happy, and loved themselves, their dream bodies reflected it.

His fellow guardian, for all that he didn't much care about mortal lives, was the spitting image of one, wearing the mortal face he currently did even in the realm of dreams. If Helios hadn't been able to sense the kindred soul within him, he would have never known they were of the same origin. Whether this was on purpose or accidental, he didn't know. They were strangers and family, connected and distant, united yet split. Thinner than water, but thicker than blood.

"I don't understand you sometimes," Helios said, taking the corporal form of a human lad and sitting near Acheron. Kawahira, as he currently went by. His dreams took on the landscape of Elysion as it was now – empty of active life. But the city was in the far distance, and they were next to the first of the rivers surrounding Hell from which Acheron had received his name.

"I don't see what there is to not understand," Acheron replied. One of the rings forged from the stygian metals was on his finger, deceptively simple in appearance despite what it was capable of. "I always act based on the rational choice."

Did he, though? Helios had been asleep for most of his time, his dreams what guarded Elysion and the subconscious of the mortal world, but Acheron had been awake with the others. And as they slipped away, one by one, he had shouldered more burdens until he was the only one left to watch over them.

He would never harm the prince, no. And Helios wanted to say that he would never resent Prince Endymion, either.

"A reminder," Helios tried. "At the very least, to prod his memories. Surely a small jog would be more than adequate to returning what he doesn't yet remember."

Acheron scoffed contemptuously. "If he can't remember such a crucial part of his life by himself," he scorned. "I will not be the ones to shake any of his memories loose. Some things, he must do himself to prove his worth."

Would he, though? Would he not hold resentment towards Endymion? Truly?

Helios sighed. It had hurt Endymion's reincarnation when the four kings sworn to him had ended up under Beryl's control, just as they had been taken by the darkness in their previous lives. To think that the last of the Golden Kingdom's legacy held him in derision would have hurt him deeply.

He himself wanted to believe that his fellow guardian did not hate Endymion, not truly. And yet Acheron had been aware and awake for much longer, and he had lost much while awaiting the prince's rebirth.

It was only his sense of duty, at this point, that kept him to his post. Helios couldn't help but wonder if one day the last guardian of the physical world would turn against Endymion.

"Relax," Acheron snapped, picking up on the wariness he must have expressed. "When he proves himself worthy, I will acknowledge him as the rightful king and surrender all the duties I currently govern."

The watcher of Hell's rivers rarely grew emotional, but when he did, he was an unstoppable storm, a disaster unmatched in the present times. Recognizing the stormy mood Helios backed off, picking his battles. He did have a point, besides. A prince had duties, and the balance of Terra had been precarious for so long, awaiting the rebirth of the bearers of star seeds. There was only so much in the sacrifices made by the guardians, by Sephira herself, for Endymion to not take up the duties.

To not realize the truth of the legacy he had to inherit.

For Acheron's sake, and for himself, Helios prayed that Chiba Mamoru would remember. It truly was too crucial a part of himself to remain forgotten, and Terra needed a king, not a prince.

* * *

From what she picked up, Kawahira wasn't the type to go places out of his own will most of the time, and Hotaru herself wasn't feeling all that adventurous.

In other words, the two of them made for a combination that would have likely stayed in the small house for who-knew-how-long, idling away the time that passed for everyone except themselves meditating upon whatever came to mind.

What kept them from doing so was a personality opposite of her grandson's. Granny kicked them out of the house on the second day after Hotaru's arrival, telling them to get some air so they wouldn't be sprouting mushrooms in the dust and dark of the house, even though she kept it clean and aired out.

"What would we even do?" Kawahira asked, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Show her around town, maybe?" Granny suggested before slamming the sliding doors shut. They rattled a bit in their frames, but didn't break.

"And don't feed her ramen!" came the muffled shout as an afterthought.

Sighing, Kawahira turned to her, the very image of a bored young man suffering from late summer's ennui. "Is there any place you want to see in particular?"

If she had to do something productive, then . . . .

"A library, and maybe a place where I can practice the violin?"

Hotaru tried to think of some more places, but right now they were the only ones that came to mind.

"Maybe a few places for food," she added. Granny fed her and that was something Hotaru was grateful for, but she should also find places so she wouldn't have to rely on her kindness all the time. Frozen time and body or not, food was a requirement regardless.

Kawahira took her around the streets near his place of residence dressed in what she learned was his usual wear, regardless of how lazy he seemed. He barely pointed out individual shops, only showing her the library like she had requested, and also the way to the park so she could get some fresh air.

"Though I don't recommend playing the violin there," he added. "A rather violent brat enjoys peace and quiet, and he sometimes patrols the town by himself to keep order."

That led to a very brief explanation about the Hibari Clan, an eccentric but influential family with ties to places that guarded Namimori because of reasons. His words exactly.

Something she could talk to her parents about. Maybe Michiru-mama or Haruka-papa, the ones that spent the most time 'rubbing elbows' with the elites in Japan, would know more about them.

He only voluntarily – and happily – pointed out one place, a shop by the name of Rakuraku-ken.

"That restaurant," Kawahira said, reverence clear in his voice as he stared at the sign. "Makes the best ramen I have ever tasted. If you ever get the chance, Tomoe-chan, you should definitely come. Their menu is flawless, but I recommend the soy sauce, salt, or miso ramen. The first is a miracle, the second a work of art, and the third a culinary wonder."

Hotaru wondered if he truly liked the food that much, or if he was a guardian sworn to protect ramen.

After ten minutes spent on waxing poetics about the wonders of Rakuraku-ken's menu, Kawahira looked wistfully at the shop before waving at her to move along. The tragic face he made as they passed it without ordering a bowl made Hotaru almost believe it was more likely the latter of her theories.

Almost.

The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. With the soul of Saturn asleep, so too did the powers that she had been granted – the ability to heal, the precognition and awareness, the magic within – all slumber with her, leaving her as Tomoe Hotaru, and only Tomoe Hotaru.

Even as Hotaru she knew of what fate had entangled Saturn in the past, remembered its weight, she didn't know how to ask the man who went by Kawahira Riku about his choices. His reasons.

Because she was also a guardian with a heavy duty, she knew how important her princess was to her. How, then, did the guardian Acheron do what he did? Avoid his prince, when he and Helios were the last survivors, even after the prince had been alerted to his survival – no, his existence. Why he didn't seem to care.

Why he accepted her presence in the mortal life he was currently living.

"Do I not scare you?" she asked instead, the lesser of two difficult questions.

"Of _course_ you scare me," he said, looking bored. "You're a little girl – the most terrifying creatures alive, I say. It's why I've never had children, and little girls especially, despite being married several times. They seize the heart and force a change the centuries couldn't manage. Terrifying."

That wasn't an answer she had been expecting, and Hotaru sputtered. "I mean," she said. "Do you . . ."

"Hate you?" he offered when she trailed off. "Blame you?"

She nodded. At the end of it all, it had been Sailor Saturn who destroyed the Silver Millennium, reset everything for a new start. Death was needed for life, after all.

But did the old life not want to continue living? No. life was that of hope – even in hard times there was always the hope that tomorrow would be better, that they would live another day to see if their fortunes had changed.

And she had ended it with a single swing of the Silence Glaive.

In that his response to her was odd. He didn't meet his prince, and yet he allowed her to stay with him. Was it his memories of the Silver Millennium? But then if so – why not blame her, the one to have ended it?

"Not really," Kawahira answered. They walked without a purpose, and no one gave them a second glance, an unkept man and a young girl dressed primly, two people very different from each other walking together on a bright day. "It's been a long time, but I suppose not ever. Back then, when the wounds were fresher and hurt, I was busy helping restore life to Terra."

At Hotaru's surprised glance, he smirked. "What, did you think the current humans were all descendants from the Golden Kingdom?"

"I . . ." Actually, she hadn't given much thought about it at all, but now that he mentioned it –

How were there people left on Earth, when the planet's prince and bearer of its star seed had died with the rest of the Silver Millennium? When the planet was the closest to the moon's Silver Palace, where she had been summoned and awakened to destroy everything? When lives on other planets were ended by her?

What had happened in the machinations of fate for this to have happened?

His smirk widened. "Only those in Elysion survived, protected by the wards the guardians inside its walls put up," he answered. "The rest – with the Dark Kingdom's claws deep in their hearts – were killed. Story time?"

Without waiting for an answer from her he extended his hand, and flames colored a dark blue crept up around them at his brief gesture. No one noticed the oddity as he wove an illusion around her.

A dark orb floated in his hand, the outlines of continents and seas the only thing that gave it any features.

"One of the guardians was a powerful shaman who took the name of Sephira – the most powerful of all the guardians that survived your execution, and arguably the main reason why we were able to do so in the first place."

The silhouette of a woman with chin-length hair wavered. Hotaru couldn't make out her features or her colouring, but she reached out to cradle the globe, carefully like it was a nest of bird eggs.

"She . . . I wouldn't say 'resurrected', but she gave life to new beings that began to fill this world. They were identical in shape to us, and yet they were fundamentally different. Less potential for magic – at least in the sense you and I had. I suppose they had something," he made a face as he spoke of their potential, almost begrudgingly. "But still – a pale imitation, compared to what once had been."

As he spoke of life filling the world, pale yellow lights began to appear on the 'globe', little specks of brightness, until the orb was alit with hundreds, thousands of bright spots.

"And because they didn't understand the magic we did – the magic that still ran in the veins of the planet – it fell upon the guardians of Elysion to maintain the balance."

Sephira's silhouette faded away. Dark gold lights, a handful in number, scattered through the brightly lit areas.

"Through whatever means possible, even as we died," he added, and the darker lights began to extinguish, one by one, until there remained only two that glowed on the surface of the globe.

Him, and Helios.

"I'm sorry," Hotaru offered.

"Don't say that." Kawahira closed his fist, and the illusion disappeared with the action. "You're not," he replied, not accusingly.

But he was right. She wasn't – and maybe it was selfish of her, to think this way, but because this life, for her, was better. Kinder. Their fates had been rewritten, and second chances given to them.

It was an empty apology she had given him, and he would not accept a lie like that, not to appease her.

"I don't fear you or hate you, because while you killed almost all the Terrans, back then," he spoke mildly, as if he was discussing menu items other than ramen. "You also freed them from the control of a darkness we had no hope against, at the time. A kindness in the quick end. A favor, I guess you could say, is the reason for my choice in aiding you."

"Then the balance would be equal," Hotaru pointed out. She had saved their souls but ended their lives. "You owe me nothing."

And here, at the heart, was a question she wanted the answer to. "Why did you give me a place to stay?"

It wasn't that she couldn't stay elsewhere. Overseas. Homestays. Finding a place for one child to live would not have been hard, not with the connections her adoptive parents had. She could have moved on to avoid suspicion after staying too long in one place.

But the guardian that had hidden his identity until now stepped up, and while he would not meet his prince he did reveal himself.

For her sake? Or for something else?

Like, say, revenge?

Because if he wanted to kill her now, well, Hotaru would be defenseless. Her soul might not have registered him as a threat, but only as to how much he could affect the part of her that was Saturn's princess reborn. It did not react to something or someone that could kill her physically, like a knife or a car. Magic-wise he may have been 'lesser' but that would not stop him from killing her, if he chose.

And yet he didn't do any of that, so revenge didn't seem to be his motive. He didn't ask questions about his prince or the princess to her.

Just a kindness, to an associate of his prince? Or something more?

Kawahira's face was unreadable, and despite there being no change to how he presented himself to the world at large, he now looked like someone who wasn't quite mortal. Something _more_.

"Like I said," he spoke, words cryptic. "A favor. If it disturbs you, perhaps you can simply say you owe me one."

* * *

AN: Also came early this time because a snow day and apparently I need like at least 13 more chapters before KHR starts so might as well try to get things moving.

Acheron - Kawahira's name from the Golden Kingdom times. A guardian of Elysion from the same time as Helios, though his role was different.

Sweet Dreams~


	4. Setsuna

One week after her arrival at Namimori, Hotaru felt the pain begin again – first at the center of her body, then slowly spreading like a fire through her peripherals until her entire body burned.

For all that it hurt, however, Hotaru welcomed the pain because it meant that Setsuna was coming. Teleportation might have been faster, but the transformation required and the use of powers made it worse, so the alternative was to come as a civilian, with Pluto's powers used as minimally as possible.

The only way Pluto's presence could be lessened was for Setsuna to come in a coma, powers sealed away, and that was just unacceptable.

Which meant this was the best they could do, and she would have to deal with the pain.

Hotaru sweated, fingers trembling out of her control.

"Good spirits," Granny muttered, putting a hand to her forehead to check her temperature. It felt cool to her, but judging by the grimace the older woman made, she was burning up. "Just cancel the meeting, girl."

She shook her head. "It's the allergy," she mumbled.

It was a ridiculous excuse, and said much about how accepting Granny was to not question the absurdity of her statement.

The old woman frowned. "Are you sure you want to meet her?" she asked, eyes glinting hard as diamonds. "You don't have to. You don't."

Hotaru smiled weakly. "I do."

She wanted to see Setsuna again. She _had_ to meet her.

Granny nearly vetoed and cancelled the entire thing when Hotaru threw up what little she had forced down in the morning, but Hotaru begged her not to. Shaking her head, Granny gave her privacy after bringing a cup of cool water for her to drink. She sipped at it, little mouthfuls of water trickling down her throat, and waited.

Hotaru didn't need to look out the window or receive a phone call to know when Setsuna was here – the pain did that for her, screaming as her soul, exposed like a raw nerve, was approached by the presence of another celestial being. Subdued power or not, her instincts shrieked at the threat of someone divine. Someone powerful and dangerous.

And what words better described Meiou Setsuna than powerful and dangerous?

It might have been better for someone else to come, that was true. Setsuna's bloodline was that of the time god's, and she was inherently powerful due to her birthright. They all were, but the old god's blood was particularly strong in Pluto.

But Pluto's domain was also closer to that of Saturn's, and the theory was that by being the most similar in nature – time and death, the Underworld and destruction – there would be less of a reaction.

Setsuna knew of the latter, but she had been reluctant nonetheless, fearing that the former would hurt her too much.

In the end Hotaru requested that Setsuna come, and never able to resist, Setsuna had agreed.

One week without and the pain was already terrible, that of her soul screaming in protest. She bore it, clenching her teeth and silently willing it to stand down. Setsuna meant her no harm, would never mean her harm on purpose.

But the moment Setsuna walked in, elegant in apparel as always and so beautiful, Hotaru's eyes filled with tears.

"Setsuna-mama," she mumbled, voice muffled with the effort to not cry.

"Hotaru," Setsuna very nearly rasped, tears roughening her words.

They stayed as close to each other as they could, just separated by just the distance of a coffee table. Hotaru ached to hug Setsuna, to feel her warmth and know she was there, for real.

The pain, however, was more than a reminder for both why she shouldn't do that, and proof of her actually being here.

They had precious time together, and she spent a lot of time calling them. In the time they had together Hotaru had to go through what they could only do in person.

"Did I get better?" Hotaru asked, the most urgent priority for her. Setsuna had to be the one to come see her, and if she couldn't make it then Ami, because Hotaru wanted to know how she was doing. Was this worth it? Was it worth staying away from her family, for reasons other than to stop the pain?

Setsuna observed her with a barely-restrained desperation. "There's not much of a difference," she said reluctantly, wishing that it was not true yet being unable to lie.

In other words, no change to her frozen time. She clutched a cushion tightly to her chest and groaned, impatient. How long, then? Would she _ever_ get better?

"You will recover," Setsuna promised, with the fierce certainty of someone who would take on the world to make it happen.

Logically Hotaru knew what she said was true. She would eventually – Saturn's soul would not let her stay broken forever. It was just the question of 'how long' that tormented her. Weeks? Months? . . . years?

Granny entered, holding a tray filled with snacks and tea. She set it down and poured out a few cups. Her 'grandson' had drifted off, not seen since the day before. It was a habit of his, Granny had said, not at all bothered by his disappearance.

"Thank you, Kawahira-san," said Setsuna, eyes still on Hotaru's face like she wanted to memorize every detail, sear it permanently into the back of her eyes.

Granny looked Setsuna up and down, and her eyes narrowed. "You're dressed quite nicely."

Setsuna always dressed nicely. Actually, even when she was a mess, she looked good. As Minako said once, Setsuna could have come through a hurricane and she would have still looked like she could be on the cover of a Vogue magazine.

Today she was dressed professionally, in a light grey pantsuit and a cream-colored blouse. The only jewelry she wore were small earrings, simple garnet studs that added color to her ensemble, and the promise ring she and the others had worn when they decided to raise Hotaru as a family.

"Thank you?" Setsuna inquired, recognizing the not-so-friendly intent lining Granny's words.

The older woman gave Setsuna a hard look. Setsuna did not retaliate with the same, but neither did she submit to the gaze. She merely held it, allowing her to see her as she was until Granny huffed.

"Hotaru-kun told me that she was allergic to you, and until now I thought it might have been her trying to tell me she couldn't stand the sight of you, or maybe that she was allergic to a perfume or something."

But Hotaru had been reacting for hours, and it worsened when Setsuna was near. Pale, drawn, shaking with pain –

Most would have assumed it to be a psychological thing, but Granny had seen how both of them desperately wanted to hold each other, how they had missed each other. She had heard Hotaru making phone calls, sharing even the smallest details and lighting up at the phone calls.

Seen Hotaru in pain today, yet insisting on seeing Setsuna.

She believed her, odd as it was, because it was true that Hotaru loved her parents, and her parents didn't want to not be with her.

Setsuna looked to Hotaru and then back at Granny. "If we could have done anything so she could have stayed with us, we would have," she said quietly.

Granny rolled her eyes and sipped at her tea, and the action was like permission for the tension to loosen.

"Yes, I see that now," she said gruffly, no longer an edge to her voice. "I admit, I'm no doctor, and the whole 'allergic to a person' thing still sounds like hogwash."

Neither of them could really say anything about that. It sounded odd to them, too, and they were living it.

"But sometimes truths are too weird to sound right," she continued on, a little huff at the end of her words as if she hated to admit that life caught her off-guard. "So here's the deal – you don't give up on this girl, understand? No matter how difficult it gets for you, no matter how long it takes – even if things never go back to how it used to be. You don't give up on her. Am I clear?"

Setsuna's lips slowly curved into a smile. "Understood."

After that, with her approval given and everything she had intended to say out, Granny shuffled out to give them time together, what precious moments they could snatch before it became too much for Hotaru to bear.

"She's a good person," Hotaru told Setsuna. She had told her parents and the other sailor scouts of this, but it had reassured Setsuna to meet for herself the other person taking care of her daughter, that was clear in the ease of her brows after Granny's approval had been given. Anyone who was willing to face down someone for a girl she had known for a week to set things straight was a person of dependable character.

"She certainly is," murmured Setsuna, a sad curve to her lips. "With a good heart and soul."

There was a thickness to her voice now.

"I missed you a lot, Setsuna-mama," Hotaru said. She always told them that she missed them, that she loved them, maybe a little desperate in case they ever forgot her, and they always told her the same – perhaps with a line of thought following a similar path – but every time was genuine, from the heart.

"Me too, Hotaru," Setsuna said, eyes glittering. "I missed you so much."

She reached for her adoptive mother, but faltered when the pain kept her from touching her. just a foot, maybe a little more – and her consciousness seemed to flicker with the effort it took to stay awake through the oppressive agony.

Meiou Setsuna saw Hotaru's efforts, and the look on her face was that of someone utterly heartbroken.

Hotaru gritted her teeth and smiled as brightly as she could. "It's really a nice place," she said, trying to reassure her. "I'll be okay."

A tear escaped her control and ran down her cheek. She hadn't even known that her eyes had been tearing up, but the dampness on her face was unmistakeable.

"Of course you will," Setsuna said thickly. "Of course you're going to be okay."

Hotaru lasted five more minutes before her limitations were pushed, and Setsuna, for all that both of them were reluctant to part, had to leave with frequent backward glances. Hotaru, leaning against the doorway, continued to wave.

As soon as Setsuna's car was out of sight, Hotaru blacked out.

* * *

When she came to, she was on one of the sofas on the first floor, a blanket tossed over her body. Kawahira, back from wherever he had gone, was peering down at her, bland curiosity on his face.

"So you really do love them," he mumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose.

There was no pain anymore, which told her that Setsuna was now far out and away from her, but Hotaru still felt weak. She pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"I do," she said softly.

It was more than just being a fellow soldier. They had been her lights in a world of darkness, the beings that lit up a lonely background with vibrant colors and gave her meaning beyond what had seemed like endless pain.

They were her family.

"Hmm," Kawahira hummed, fancy in his eyes. It was the kind of interest a child showed a pretty-colored insect that caught his eye on the road, or an oddly shaped rock. "Well, that explains why you're reacting so strongly."

Hotaru blinked. "What?"

Kawahira waved a hand as if it should have been obvious. "Usually, with the power of your birthright slumbering inside you right now and your soul remaining vulnerable, the exposure to the other guardians should be irritating, maybe a little painful."

But Hotaru was in terrible agony when in their presence.

"Yes, well, that's because you love them too much," he explained like it was evident for anyone. "You reach out to them, even when you're unprotected and could be swept up in their powers. Your love put you in more danger, and that's why the reactions are so strong. There's a difference between having your fingers close to the flames, and _in_ the flames."

"Oh," Hotaru said dully. A difference in being irritated by the heat, and having the fire burn you. He was saying that she stuck her hands into the danger.

A stupid thing to do, but she couldn't very well stop loving them.

Kawahira shrugged. "If it's any consolation," he offered, bland as always in tone. "Their love for you also contributes to this whole overreaction going on."

Because they were also reaching for her, except their powers, untransformed and unused as they were around her, were still a threat to her soul.

Love had been what saved her, but it also caused her pain. A double-edged sword.

If she had been more fragile at heart, she might have believed that she wasn't destined to be loved, ever.

"It is," Hotaru murmured. Ironically, that knowledge gave her the strength to bear its implications. She would believe in her family, her future queen and her fellow guardians. She could be strong. "Thank you, Kawahira-san."

"Eh." He waved it off. "It's not like I can do anything to help you. Don't be so quick to thank me."

Hotaru gazed at him in contemplation. There, again, he was drawing the line. Helios had said he could be obfuscating, and he wasn't wrong on his assessment of the other guardian. Kawahira only explained what he wanted and didn't seem fond of expressions of gratitude.

He looked right back at her, bland-faced and bespectacled, as if silently saying he had nothing to hide – and by doing so revealing nothing.

"Riku!" came a shout from the direction of the kitchen, breaking the staring contest. "Is she up?!"

"Yes, Granny," he called back. "She's up."

"Tell her I made congee!" Granny shouted. "She can eat in bed if she wants to!"

Instead of telling her what his grandmother had said, he merely raised an eyebrow at her.

"I can go," Hotaru said, beginning to climb out of the sofa. She tried to stand, only for her knees to buckle. She landed back on the padded seats, thankfully not falling to the ground, but it was clear she wouldn't really be able to move any time soon.

"Not really," Kawahira pointed out unhelpfully, watching her struggle with amusement. "Granny, she's going to have to eat here."

Hotaru ended up having to do just that, when Granny came with a tray holding a bowl of congee and a few side dishes for flavor.

* * *

AN: Forgot to mention this before but. Future I-Pin mentions that Kawahira had a daughter (and she borrowed a yukata from her). In Petrichor Kawahira has no daughter. Just putting it out there.

Sweet Dreams~


	5. Takeshi

There were only so many times that Hotaru could talk to her parents over the phone about a rather set, regular life taking place in a small parameter. This time, before Hotaru could even talk about what had happened since the last time she called, Haruka told her she should at least explore the town a little.

"But only when it's safe," she added, worry suddenly spiking in her voice. "In plain sight of everyone – wait, damn it, that might make it easier for someone to snatch you up. Is there a dojo there? A good one? I should have taught you judo before you left."

Given that she had been in pain just being near her and the others, Hotaru didn't think being taught judo before arriving in Namimori was all that viable.

"I'll be okay," Hotaru reassured her, trying to cut Haruka off from her train of thought before she decided that Hotaru needed to carry a weapon on her at all times. For all that Kawahira liked to be out of the house doing who-knew-what, he also wouldn't not be keeping an eye on her or Granny in someway, as evidenced by how he always showed up when the two of them were looking for him.

"She still has her communicator," Michiru said calmly. Hotaru glanced down at her 'watch', a purple watch made out of 'plastic' at first glance. An observant person might have noticed that there weren't as many decorative features on it as expected from a child's toy watch, or that the materials weren't really plastic at all, but few people would ever look that closely to notice the oddities.

And even fewer would ever realize that it was actually a very high-tech equipment, magic and science combined to do what was presently impossible.

"If anything happens," Michiru continued. "You know what to do, Hotaru. We'll be monitoring your signal constantly, but the moment the alarm goes off we'll be there to make the philistines regret it in the short time they have left alive."

Never mind, there was no calmness in her either. She was just very good at pretending to sound like the voice of reason.

The true voice of reason in the trio spoke now. "Did something happen, Hotaru?"

"Nothing bad," she replied fondly.

"Nothing 'bad'?" Setsuna echoed.

Her smile deepened at the memory. "Just, some people I met at the park."

* * *

The library wasn't a bad place to read, but sometimes it was too quiet, and Hotaru needed background noise other than the sound of pages flipping, throats clearing, people moving every now and then. A place to people-watch, so to speak.

For that, the best place to read was the park, near the playground. The sound of children playing – loud and free, happily unaware of everything except their own world – and the fresh air brought by the breeze, shaking up the trees and making their presence known kept her company.

It was September, and while the day was warm, it was also growing colder. Already she was wearing tights under her skirt and a long-sleeved sweater. Soon she wouldn't be able to read outside without the chill affecting her. Best to enjoy it while she could, then. It could be, if everything went well, that she would no longer be in Namimori by the time spring came along.

Today's main provider of background noise was a young boy, maybe five or six years old, and a woman that could only be his mother, from how similar their smiles were.

"I think you gave Daddy a fright," said the woman. "I've only ever seen him turn that color when I went into labor."

"Labor?" the boy repeated.

"When Mommy was giving birth to you."

He stared very hard at the flat stomach of his mother, and Hotaru raised her book to hide the lower half of her face, and more specifically the smile that had involuntarily spread across. Today's background noise was a little too funny to watch to be _just_ background noise. Her book could still be read when she returned to the Kawahira residence, but fleeting moments like this didn't come back. "Is it scary?"

"Very." His mother leaned in to wrap her arms around her son. "But worth it, so worth it."

He squirmed and broke free. "Mom!"

"There's no one around!" she protested. "No one can see me hug you!"

"There are _people_ around!" he argued back, eyes skipping from person to person. For two seconds his eyes landed on her, before he moved on to other witnesses to his 'shame'.

"Okay," said his mother with a fake sniff. "I guess Mommy will just be sad that her baby boy's all grown up now. Takeshi's an adult now, Tsuyoshi. What will we do now that he doesn't need us?"

" _Mom_ ," 'Takeshi' said with the tone of a long-suffering person only embarrassed children could pull off genuinely, but he did quickly hug her. "There."

Hotaru was listening in a little too closely, she had to admit, but it was truly adorable to watch.

"But why _is_ the sky blue?" asked the child to his mother, now that everything had been resolved except for his original curiosity.

She laughed. "I don't know!"

Hotaru dropped her book at that unexpected turn of events. It landed on her foot, and unfortunately on the edge. She hissed and winced at the pain – of course it would be when she had a hardcover book, of course she would drop it on her foot – and sighed at her luck. At least she was wearing closed-toe shoes, even if they had been too thin to really protect her.

The boy darted over to her before she could bend at the waist to pick it up, and snatched the book from the ground to hand it to her. "Here."

"Are you alright?" the mother asked, looking concerned.

Yes, definitely someone too good for this world. Both of them.

"Thank you. I'm fine." That sounded too . . . stiff and formal. Was there a way to try and soften it up? Maybe it was the feeling of dépaysement she had been experiencing since her arrival in Namimori that drove her to add the next part to her sentence. "And the sky is blue because of light."

Judging from Takeshi's blank look, he hadn't understood.

In for a penny, in for a pound. Hotaru smoothed out her face and fought to keep from blushing. "Do you know the colors of the rainbow?"

The boy looked at her, wide-eyed in the way only young children could be, and nodded slowly.

"The rainbow comes when the sunlight bends into different colors from all the water in the sky left by the rain," she said, picking words and explanations easier for someone his age. Not that Hotaru really knew what was age-appropriate. Most kids didn't like reading Virgil's works when they were technically six months old.

"But it rained," said Takeshi. "And the clouds disappear after the rain."

He wasn't rejecting her, and he was asking questions. Hotaru gave herself a mental pat on the back.

"It's still damp after, right?" When he nodded, she continued. "The sky is also a little wet from the rain, and when the sunlight passes through the water, it bends."

"I think I know this," he said. "Like through a – a triangle thing."

"A prism." That made things easier, if he knew what a prism could do. "Exactly. Air doesn't bend light like water or a prism, but it makes it scatter. See how the sky's really big?"

The two of them – three, Hotaru corrected herself, seeing the mother also glance up – looked to the sky, open and wide, capable of embracing everything. The weather really was warm, for a September afternoon, and the sky was gorgeous.

"All that air," Hotaru explained, making sure to keep it simple because he probably wouldn't understand the different layers of the atmospheres or the concept of particles, not without her getting off-track to explain that as well. "And everything in it scatters the light of the sun, a little similarly to how a prism makes a rainbow by bending the light. Light usually looks white, but it's actually the colors of the rainbow combined."

Takeshi considered this explanation with a frown on his face. "Then why isn't the sky the color of the rainbow?"

He asked some good questions. Hotaru was rather glad she had taken the jump and answered his question unexpectedly.

"If the sun's up high, like during the day." She held her hand in position to demonstrate as best as she could. "Then the color of light that gets scattered the most is the blue. Have you seen the sun rise or set?"

He nodded eagerly, guessing where she was going.

"What color was the sky?"

"Red! Orange? Kind of both? Sometimes pink," Takeshi blurted out almost immediately.

Now it was Hotaru's turn to nod. "Because the sun's lower at sunrise or sunset," she said, lowering the hand that represented the 'sun' into the correct position for demonstration. "Then the colors that get scattered the most are different from blue – orange, red, pink, like you said."

He looked at her very carefully. "You're not making that up."

Odd how he didn't immediately trust or accuse her. It almost seemed like he was gauging her, assessing her as a person along with her answers to see whether she could be trusted in what she had said.

"I'm not," she promised. There was little merit in lying to a stranger, and besides, it wasn't like it was a hard question to answer.

He considered her words and then apparently decided that she was okay, because he smiled. "What's your name? I'm Takeshi."

"My name is Tomoe Hotaru," she introduced herself, and gave a small bow of her head to his mother, who beamed at her with the force of the morning sun. "Nice to meet you, Takeshi-kun."

"Same. Do you know how airplanes fly?"

She did, and after an explanation that had him slightly confused but mostly accepting of the science behind it with the help of a few sketches on the dirt of the ground, she also answered the questions of why the seasons changed, why the moon had different shapes and why humans didn't lay eggs.

"Then how are babies made?"

Hotaru opened her mouth to begin answering before the question actually sank in, and she snapped her mouth shut. Deciding that this was a question requiring parental permission before she went and answered Takeshi, Hotaru looked to his mother.

Takeshi's mother, upon seeing her inquisitive look, promptly burst out into loud laughter, laughing so hard that she ended up bent at the waist. Even after nearly losing her balance and falling over she continued laughing loudly.

Not sure what exactly had triggered this fit, Hotaru looked to her son for guidance.

"She does that sometimes," Takeshi said, not at all bothered by his mother's fit of laughter. "So how are babies made?"

"I think," Hotaru said, raising her voice to be heard because his mother was still laughing. "I need your mom's permission before I can answer that."

That might not have been the best response, because his face turned a little mulish. "So you know the answer?"

"Yes."

Takeshi sighed. "Is it one of those 'you'll know when you get older' things?"

"Hopefully," Hotaru said with dead seriousness. "You can know the theory, but you can't start trying it when you're young."

He gave her a 'duh' kind of look. "I don't want a baby _now_ ," he said like it was obvious. "I just want to know."

"Of course." She bit back a smile. Behind him his mother, who had been calming down, had to turn her head to not laugh outright again as well.

"Really," Takeshi said when it was clear to him that they didn't believe him. "What would I even do with a baby?"

"That's a good point," Hotaru agreed. "You can think about it in the future, if you ever choose to have one."

Still shaking a little with laughter, Takeshi's mother finally cut in. "I'm sure you had a lot of fun with Hotaru-chan, Takeshi," she said, eyes crinkling at the corners. "But I think we might have to let her go home now, before it gets too dark."

She was right. A glance at the sky showed darker shades of blue, mixing with violets. Near the west, where the sun was setting, the air around the horizon was beginning to be tinted with a reddish orange.

Hotaru stood up. "It was nice speaking with you, Takeshi-kun," she told him solemnly. "I think you can ask your father that last question. He probably knows that one."

"Oh, he does," agreed Takeshi's mother, fanning the flames with utter glee. Mischief danced in her eyes in equal measure to the mirth that had been present already. "He knows more than how to just make sushi. I'm sure he'll be happy to explain. We run a sushi restaurant," she added for Hotaru's sake. "TakeSushi, near the station."

"You should come to TakeSushi," he told her. "We have the best sushi in town."

Kawahira, the ramen enthusiast, hadn't really shown her any other eating places. Hotaru liked sushi well enough – it was Michiru's favorite food, and naturally she'd been raised eating what was deemed the 'good stuff' by Haruka.

"I'll come by sometime," she promised. It had been fun, speaking to people. At home Granny worked and Kawahira wandered off to do who-knew-what, and while she could tell her parents anything all three were very busy people.

Besides, she could go with Granny, maybe treat her to food that she didn't have to make herself for once. "Bye, Takeshi-kun."

There had been a time in her life when she had feared social interactions. When the sight of other people made her nervous, when speaking to others would make her tense and worried. After the accident when she was eight, to when Tomoe Hotaru first 'died', her life had been pain and misery, and there had been no comfort to draw from another person in her world.

Not until Chibi-Usa and Usagi, who had brought back a light she hadn't known could exist into her life.

Hotaru looked at the skies, the blue of daylight starting to give way to the sunset's influences. It was a beautiful sight, all of it – the sunset, the people, the trees. The brief conversation with strangers had been – fun, easing something within her she hadn't been aware of.

It wasn't bad, she decided. Not bad at all.

* * *

AN: I have a final exam tomorrow but I also really want this story to get to action starting so here have a meeting with the first of the Namimori gang. Since there's no mention of 80's mom in canon, I guess she's a minor OC. Her name is from Ringo Ameyuri of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist from Naruto, because I liked the name and also it was kind of fitting, seeing as how Ringo Ameyuri is a swordswoman and her name means 'beneficial rain'. Yamamoto Ameyuri is probably nicer than Ringo Ameyuri, though.

Sweet Dreams~


	6. Ameyuri

Despite the good impression they had left on her, three months passed before Hotaru ran into Takeshi's mom again. It was late December, but the weather was unusually warm, snow not having come for over a week.

At the mart to pick up groceries for Granny – whose knees always ached in the winter, Kawahira had explained – Hotaru paused at the sight of the woman, who was quietly laughing to herself as she picked through the selves.

She would have silently passed by her if Takeshi's mother hadn't noticed her first.

"Hotaru-chan?"

Hotaru ducked her head in a greeting. She didn't know what to call her.

Takeshi's mother noticed the source of her silence and smiled brightly. "You can call me Ameyuri," she offered. "Or Auntie."

She was a very open woman, unashamed and unafraid to hide herself from the world, and her nature was that of someone bright and strong like the sun. Hotaru didn't dislike people who were bright and open, not when they were sincere. "Hello, Ameyuri-san."

Ameyuri's eyes curved softly. "I see you're here at the mart alone." A grin crooked her mouth. "Did your family kick you out too?"

Bewildered, Hotaru stared with wide eyes. It was apparently an inside joke, because Ameyuri burst into stifled giggles. Some of the other customers in range shot her dirty looks, but she either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Sorry about that," she apologized once the outburst was over. "It's just – my husband and son – they kicked me out of the house under the pretense of needing me to pick things up from the mart."

Brandishing a shopping list in Hotaru's general direction, Takeshi's mother rolled her eyes. "As if I didn't notice them plotting something from a week ago."

"Plotting?" It sounded like something that wouldn't cause her harm, from the way she was laughing about it, but still.

Ameyuri's smile was mischievous. "It's my birthday today."

"Happy birthday," Hotaru said automatically. It was near the end of December, which made Ameyuri a Capricorn.

Under the protection of Saturn, said the part of her that missed her power dearly. Technically under her protection, too, not that she could really protect anyone these days.

"Thank you." Ameyuri beamed. "They're sweet, really. So now I'm just stalling my time because they told me I should take," she paused to giggle again. "At least thirty minutes. Which means I should give them two hours, really."

Hotaru smiled, having been involved in the preparation of a few 'surprise' parties before for the other guardians. Things always did have a terrible habit of going wrong at the last moment, and sometimes the results weren't what they were supposed to be.

But it was almost always worth it at the end. None of them had ever really been surprised, but they had always appreciated it.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Granny didn't really need the groceries immediately. She had time to spare.

"If you're not busy." Ameyuri leaned in conspiratorially. "It's only been an hour and I'm so _bored_."

Hotaru giggled, because the woman was comical in her exaggerated expression. Ameyuri helped her pick out her groceries, offering her opinions on different brands and foods, and even tried to pay for it at the end. She would have if Hotaru hadn't been faster in getting the money from her wallet.

"Maybe you could recommend something for me to try at your restaurant," Hotaru offered when she looked so disappointed. In the short time she had known her, it just seemed wrong for Ameyuri to not be smiling.

"Absolutely," Ameyuri promised immediately. "We make the best sushi in town, you know. And it's not just because it's my family's that I'm saying that. All our customers say it, too."

She added a wink, and Hotaru had to smile because she was almost infectious with the amount of cheer she had in her.

The mart had a section where they sold snacks, like fish cakes, fried dough and hot dogs. Ameyuri ordered the fish cakes, speared on kebob sticks and resting in paper cups of the broth, and handed one to Hotaru.

"It's cold out," she insisted. "And a hot drink is always good for warming you right up."

Hotaru accepted and made a note to definitely drop by TakeSushi one of these days instead of forgetting like she had before. Maybe with Granny, so she could buy dinner as well. Selene knew she had the money to spare. Michiru had no understanding of the term 'limits to the budget', at least when it came to padding Hotaru's bank account. After the first two times, Hotaru had stopped checking how much money remained, because seeing the numbers increasing dramatically each time had been more than enough to assure her that she wouldn't be having financial problems during her stay in Namimori.

As they ate the hot oden carefully so as to not burn their mouths, Ameyuri launched into conversation. Takeshi had definitely inherited his social nature from his mother. Ameyuri had a way of engaging someone with her words as naturally as she breathed, and before she knew it Hotaru was sharing how she was living here for an unknown period of time due to health issues, and how before this she had lived in Juban, in Tokyo.

"From the city to a town like Namimori, huh?" Ameyuri sipped at her broth. She had already recounted how her husband usually wasn't one to do events, could be a little awkward about it sometimes but he loved her and that was what counted, and how their son had gotten it into their heads that she deserved a party, but she had also been an excellent listener. "As someone born and raised here, I can tell you right away that it might not seem impressive at first, but it's not a bad place."

Hotaru nodded. It really wasn't a bad place. There was a harmony, for a lack of a better word, in the energy of the town. A serenity to the air, something that accepted without asking questions.

But her reticence seemed to have come across as a reluctance to agree, and fired Ameyuri up immediately.

"Really, it is!" she exclaimed, and if there had been anything left in her cup she would have ended up spilling it because of how suddenly she leaned forwards. "If you ever need help from a local, you can always ask me."

Technically Hotaru already had a local willing to help her – and one that may not have been enthusiastic, but still would for whatever his reasons happened to be – but it was the thought she appreciated. "Thank you, Ameyuri-san. That's very kind of you to offer."

The woman beamed at her. Having spent most of her time around her fellow guardians, Hotaru had high standards of physical beauty. Ameyuri wasn't the radiant beauty many of the sailor scouts were, but there was an honesty to her countenance, a bright kindness that would give anyone a good impression.

"I have to admit, though, I have my reasons," she confessed suddenly.

Hotaru pondered this. She hadn't _felt_ suspicious. If there had been ill intent directed to her, resting or not Saturn's soul would have stirred to alert her of the danger.

Ameyuri continued to speak, solving her unasked question. "I've never seen Takeshi so open with another person before, outside of family," she admitted. "He really liked talking with you, that day."

She blinked, trying to match the cheerful boy she had met back in September with what Ameyuri said. Takeshi didn't seem the type to not have friends.

"It's not that he doesn't get along with his peers in school," Ameyuri added. "He does, really. No fights or anything at kindergarten, or anywhere else. It's just . . . he's always been a little astute, even for his age, and he finds it odd how children his age can't notice or realize what he does."

Ah, Hotaru thought, understanding a little better. It was a matter of being different.

Different could be a good thing. Being different was what had led her to her most important people, the path she would gladly walk.

But being different could also mean being isolated.

"When he got along so well with you that day," Ameyuri said with a shrug. "I thought maybe it had something to do with maturity. Honestly, he didn't stop talking about you for _days_! He was just so _impressed_ with how you answered almost all his questions. You're a very smart girl, and you have a knack for explaining things in a way that keeps him interested."

She flushed a little at the praise. She had thought he would immediately forget about her when he got home.

"I think it had to do with how his father couldn't explain why the sky was blue like you could. He talked about _that_ for days, even if he got confused about it himself halfway through and forgot your explanations. And oh, you wouldn't believe the color my husband turned when Takeshi asked him how babies were made. I wish I had taken a picture."

"Sorry?" Hotaru said, but her lips were already twitching into a smile at the thought.

"Please, don't be." Ameyuri waved her hands, grinning like mad. "It was the funniest thing ever, watching him try to explain."

The attempt failed, and a smile broke through. She had to wait till her own amusement calmed before she could speak again.

"He's still young," Hotaru said, offering what she knew from personal experience. She had been different, isolated once. Unlike her, Takeshi would not have to deal with a parasitic being within his own body trying to turn him into a vessel, and the pain that came with the process. He was by nature a social and friendly boy. He would not suffer from isolation, despite the difference. "And he'll grow, and change, hopefully in a good direction."

The amusement in Ameyuri was changed into a softer emotion, but by no means weaker. Affection. Love. Pure and sweet and true.

"Maybe he will. But at the same time I'm worried, I guess. He's like his father in some ways – he's social, but he doesn't let people in easily." Ameyuri sighed.

"I don't think you're telling me that he's let me in," Hotaru noted, hands keeping themselves busy by folding the paper cup up, bit by bit. Takeshi had been friendly, but it was hardly what Ameyuri described to her. She still remembered the assessing gaze she had received from him, the approval of her answer and her status as someone who spoke the truth, but not acceptance of her as a person of importance to him.

"He didn't, no," Ameyuri agreed. "But you came closer than anyone else he's met, except family."

Had she? She hadn't even done much. They threw away their cups and walked out of the vendor section. Ameyuri insisted on helping her with the groceries and on walking her back. Recognizing that she had more to say, Hotaru accepted her help.

"I just wanted to ask," Ameyuri said, as they walked through the streets mostly cleared of snow. "That you don't judge him for being different from other children."

"I would never," Hotaru swore, more emotion entering her voice than she had intended. She wouldn't. She _couldn't_.

"I thought you might say that." Takeshi's mother looked incredibly satisfied with her reply. "But it's still such a relief to hear."

A mother who loved her child dearly. She was suddenly struck with the faint memories of her own mother – the one who had given birth to her, the one that had died saving her from the fire without knowing what kind of a life her daughter would live for the next four years. What would she have done, had she survived and learned of how her daughter suffered from being 'different'?

"No child should be isolated because he or she is different," Hotaru whispered. How many times had she wondered why she even continued living? How much had she feared being in Namimori, away from the first people who had seen who she was, who she could be and still given her love unconditionally, just for being her? "No one."

Ameyuri looked at her carefully, and Hotaru hurried to change the subject. "I thought maybe you'd ask me to come over and spend time with him."

The woman with the kind face, thankfully, went along with her attempt. "I considered it, too," she admitted freely. "But he's a very active child, and I thought you might be pressured into it so I decided to hold back on asking."

Hotaru considered it. She studied, she practiced the violin so her hands wouldn't forget how to coax music from the stringed instruments, and she read books, but otherwise her life was a little stagnant. There was only so much amusement she could get from such a repetitive lifestyle, after all, and ennui had done more than begin to sink in.

"I don't mind," she said, a little impulsively. "I like kids."

She said this, and _then_ realized that she was technically still a ten-year-old to anyone who saw her. Her physical age would always affect her mental age – would affect all their mental ages, because eternal youth reflected on the consciousness as well as the flesh – but she was mature, and she had memories up to being twelve years of age.

Which . . . still wasn't all that old.

Ameyuri didn't make fun of her for that. Rather, she beamed.

"You should _definitely_ come over some time," she invited. "We'll give you a discount. And my husband might not be good at answering questions, but he's very good at making sushi."

They reached Kawahira Realtors, and Ameyuri looked at the place. "Oh, this place has been around forever," she mumbled.

It did look like it, Hotaru thought, as she got her bags back. "Thank you, Ameyuri-san."

"Thank _you_ , Hotaru-chan." Ameyuri returned with an enthusiastic wave of her hands. "Take care, and don't be a stranger!"

* * *

AN: I read through chapter 5 and realized I accidentally left a part out which oops. A part of me wishes that there was a map for Namimori because I have no idea where places are. I just arbitrarily had TakeSushi be near 'the station', wherever that is (I am on par with Roronoa Zoro for my ability to get lost, do not ask for details or directions you will regret it and I will cry). Might be busy the next few days so have an update earlier than planned.

Sweet Dreams~


	7. Hibari

Shortly after the new year, Hotaru was returning home from the library when she heard a man with a rough voice shout in the alley.

"Kill him, he's just a kid!"

Perhaps a little recklessly, Hotaru ran towards the sound. She couldn't have done anything, she would later think. Saturn's powers were out of reach for who-knew-how-long, and she was physically a ten-year-old girl without much strength if she couldn't become Sailor Saturn.

But in that moment, with the possibility of someone in danger, she moved just like any one of the guardians might have.

Hotaru ran expecting to see a young boy being threatened with physical harm if not outright death by two or more people. She ran in expecting to cause a distraction of some sorts, maybe take the boy and run into the safety offered by broad daylight and the public eye.

She saw instead a sight so unbelievable she stopped dead in her tracks, and nearly rubbed at her eyes to confirm that what she was seeing was not a trick of the light like she had immediately assumed.

In the alleyway, dark and seemingly an entirely different world from the brightness of the open street that it opened into stood a young boy, maybe one or two years younger than her physical age of ten. His back was to her, but in his hands he held two blunt weapons, a little like clubs or batons but with perpendicular handles.

Ahead of him, further down the alley, were two young men. No, Hotaru corrected herself, upon catching sight of the uniforms they wore. Middle schoolers, from one of the local middle schools. Namimori Middle, if she wasn't wrong.

Between the young boy with the blunt weapons and the students were three more students, lying on the ground. From the groaning sounds they were making, they were still alive – though in pain.

Hotaru hadn't expected this. She had no idea what to do, with all her hastily-made plans not applicable to this situation.

One of the two still on their feet yelled – more of a shout of terror than a battle cry – and charged.

The younger boy lunged, and with the blunt sound of something solid being hit with a great force, slammed his weapons into his opponent. A blow to the side of the head later, he was down.

Then – and Hotaru pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming the sight in front of her – he jumped, one single lunge enough for him to clear the distance between where he had been and where the last middle school student stood. Two swift blows later and he was the only one left standing.

Essentially, what she was witnessing could be summed up by 'five middle school students, against one prepubescent boy, with the latter coming out on top'.

At this point Hotaru had no idea what to say, or even what to think, let alone what she was supposed to do in this situation. It was a very one-sided violence, but it didn't add up in the logical aspect of things.

The boy turned around after lightly kicking at the middle schoolers a little, almost like a cat pawing at a toy with fading interest. He had a face that was delicate in his young age, fine-boned and aristocratic. Dressed primly in clothes that were best worn in sun-lit rooms for playing instruments or reading books, he looked like an heir to a wealthy family, and that made his standing in the dark of the alley among the evidence of violence so contradictory.

The disconnect between his appearance and the scene before her, however, became less so when she saw his eyes for the first time. Even in his young face his eyes, the color of steel, were sharp. They flickered over her and Hotaru almost called for her powers as Saturn. Her magic might have been out of her reach, but her instincts as a living being warned her to be on guard. Those were the eyes of someone looking for a fight, who lived for it.

He evidently found nothing worth his time in her, however, because he tucked his blunt weapons away and began to walk towards her with the determined pace of one who did not and would not stop for the sake of any obstacles in his way. Not towards her because he had business with her, but because she happened to be in the way of his exit.

"Move," he ordered her curtly as he approached, not even slowing his steps.

Hotaru did so unconsciously, still stunned. Had she seen things wrong? A glance towards the still-groaning, nearly unconscious middle school students told her that no, she hadn't.

The better question to be asking, then would be: was he human?

By the time she had accepted and realized that yes, what she had witnessed really had happened, the boy with the melee weapons was gone from her sight.

* * *

"Kawahira-san says he's a child of the Hibari Clan," Hotaru ended her daily report with that. The one he had mentioned in passing before when showing her around Namimori. He had not been joking when he called him violent.

"What the hell," Haruka muttered, and was followed by the light sound of a slap reprimanding her for her language. "Ow."

"Language," scolded Setsuna. "Michiru, what do you know about that family?"

Of course Michiru would be the one to know. Hotaru listened.

"The Hibari are . . . odd," Michiru said, with an audible hesitation.

Kawahira had said the same. Something about the family guarding Namimori for reasons. It _was_ odd that they seemed to send their young children to fight, Hotaru could say now that she had seen for herself.

"It's more than that," Michiru explained. "They . . . well, it's kind of an unsaid secret that they have ties to the yakuza."

"Um," said Hotaru, because those were words that usually never boded well. Also, that both explained a lot and simultaneously brought up more questions.

"Not in a bad way," Michiru said hastily, though how one could have ties to the yakuza in a 'non-bad way', Hotaru wasn't too sure. "They're more like . . . vigilantes, in a way."

What she next described was a family that was called eccentric for being legal – mostly – and having more of an obsession with keeping their 'territory' under their protection.

"You must have met the second son of the current clan head," Michiru said, as Hotaru thought about this new information. "It was fairly big news about ten years ago when the head got remarried to his current wife because she was a shrine maiden, and about a year later, I think, they announced the birth of a second child."

She kept it simple, but all of them picked up on the potential for more details that would likely turn the story into something as sensational as a morning drama.

"You seem well-informed," Setsuna noted. None of them were very interested in gossip or sensational drama.

"There was talk about the first son being engaged at the time, and since he was around my age my grandfather considered the match." Hotaru couldn't see her, but she could almost hear the elegant shrug that Michiru did when she smiled that secretive smile. "I wasn't going to let that happen, but I still picked up on the gossip going around."

"Cheers to that," Haruka murmured, voice lowered with fondness.

Hotaru smiled. Even over the phone, they never changed. Distance between them and circumstances aside it was like old times, and familiarity brought comfort.

"I refreshed my memory and looked into it some more when I learned where Hotaru was going," Michiru added. "They might be a weird family and have unorthodox methods in doing things, but they protect their own."

Unorthodox. Thinking of the young boy and the swift brutality with which he had wielded his weapons, Hotaru thought that was a mild way of putting things.

"It'll do," Haruka grunted, as if she found it unpreferable but not completely unacceptable. Given Haruka's own preferences to let her fists speak on her behalf sometimes, Hotaru wasn't surprised.

"It seems odd, letting their son go around beating up people in their territory," Setsuna pointed out. "Are we sure it'll be safe for Hotaru?"

"Hotaru said he beat up middle schoolers in an alley," Haruka replied. "In my experience, that's the age when idiots start doing the stupidest things and find themselves in need of a good beating to get some sense into their heads, and if they were hanging around an alley like wannabe gangsters? They probably weren't up to anything good in the first place."

Hotaru, remembering what the middle schoolers had shouted, had to agree in some parts. Terrified or not, to think that it would be okay to kill a 'kid'? It didn't speak positively for their characters.

She had looked over the people in the alley briefly, after the young boy had departed. No one had broken bones, or signs of permanent damage. Just bruises – both literally on their bodies and figuratively to their prides, both things they could recover from.

"He didn't hurt Hotaru," Michiru added in the young Hibari's defense.

"Fair," agreed Setsuna. "But Hotaru, are you okay with this?"

Hotaru could guess the reason why Michiru had only now told her about this. She wouldn't have not known, as evidenced by how she had been able to immediately provide information about the Hibari Clan.

Likely, she had believed in them to be enough in keeping Hotaru safe. Or, at the very least in keeping an environment clean enough for Hotaru to live in without concern. If Hotaru hadn't asked or run into the young Hibari boy, then she could have gone on living without knowing about the clan that kept Namimori safe through their unusual ways.

And now that she knew, Michiru wanted to let her know the whole story, or at least as close to the whole story as she could get and was checking if she was uncomfortable with the perspective.

"I am," she replied. She – they, in general, as sailor guardians – really had no room to be looking down on unorthodox methods of preserving safety. "Besides, I just wanted to know if he was an alien we didn't know about."

Haruka quietly muttered half-hearted curses towards the Sailor Starlights. She didn't really mean it, Hotaru knew, but at the same time it was a matter of pride as a sailor guardian protecting the solar system from outside threats. Refugees and peaceful intentions aside, pride sometimes meant something more than amends. Fond grudges that were more things to be ribbed about at what could be considered friendly comrades that had once fought together rather than actual resentment.

"Your communicator should alert you – and us – if you ever ran into a visitor, approved or not," Michiru reminded her. "We're keeping a very close eye on the signal."

"I know. I just . . . wanted to make sure." Because what she had witnessed earlier that day had been movements Hotaru would have said were impossible on a regular child his age. But maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to say something was impossible. Eight-year old boys could take on middle schoolers in a fight, and more importantly come out victorious. Sure.

What an odd town, Hotaru thought, not for the first time. The way she thought it, mildly fond and exasperated, was a testament to how she was beginning to grow used to living in Namimori. The height of average, perhaps, meant that everything was average to the town, and therefore not to be fussed about.

Hotaru would think the same thing a month later, when she went out early and witnessed another boy around the same age as the unnamed Hibari boy with short white hair shouting 'extreme' at the top of his lungs while dashing around town. At that point in time she wasn't even confused or bewildered, but simply accepted the sight of him as another quirk of the town. Hotaru was growing to be quite the model citizen of Namimori, able to see anything and take it in as it was.

* * *

AN: earlier plans had Hibari be a cousin of Rei's but that was changed because of reasons (one of which is a red pacifier Arcobaleno). So in Petrichor canon Rei and Hibari are not related / know each other. And Hotaru's second friend she makes before canon starts is not Hibari.

Sweet Dreams~


	8. Funeral

In the middle of March, Kawahira showed up for the first time since letting her know about the identity of the boy in the alley, the longest he had been away from his home. Granny gave him a scolding for not showing up sooner and then fed them both while she was at it, because she was a firm believer in showing she cared through scolding and feeding.

Hotaru waited until Granny lightly pushed him into his usual seat at the table before she set the table and lightly patted him on his back, a silent offer of comfort. His eyes looked exhausted behind his glasses, more so than usual, and his shoulders were slumped with something heavier than the usual slouch.

Kawahira didn't say anything, but he did nod once before Granny finished cooking.

He stayed for breakfast and lunch and even tea in the afternoon before he began to drift out once more. It was clear he would be leaving soon, from the way his exhausted eyes seemed to gaze into the far distance even when he made eye contact with either Hotaru or Granny. It was his tell, that he would be leaving.

Granny didn't try to stop him, and neither did Hotaru, both knowing that he had his own business to take care of, and that he would return in his own time. Even when she asked questions about the Silver Millennium from his perspective, digging for information he knew would be passed back to the sailor soldiers and Chiba Mamoru, he only evaded some questions and gave answers to others, and never forbade her from inquiring or left with the intent to not return.

It gave Chiba Mamoru a headache trying to think about the information Hotaru had passed onto him, and on why Acheron was willing to speak with Hotaru and not him, but otherwise they got along peacefully.

As he was about to head out again, he paused to turn back to her.

"Yamamoto Ameyuri is dead," Kawahira pronounced.

For a moment his words didn't sink in, but when they did she stood up from her seat. The price to pay for that abrupt movement was that she smashed her knee against the coffee table, hard enough to make her cry out in pain.

"Careful," he said, a little late for his warning to do any good. "That table's probably hard enough to survive the Apocalypse."

It felt like it, too, and they were probably two of the most qualified people on the subject. Wincing and deeply missing her power to heal, she rubbed at the sore spot to make the pain go away so she could focus on more important things. "Ameyuri-san?"

"Dead," Kawahira said, confirming his words and crushing her hopes. "A car accident took her life. The driver of the vehicle that hit her dozed off at the wheel, and she died before she made it to the hospital."

"Oh," Hotaru said. Car accident. Right. A common cause of death. It happened to many people every year, and it was why Haruka always wore a seat belt and a helmet when she raced. It was why Hotaru and all her family wore seatbelts, and worried as much as they cheered when they saw Haruka racing.

Ameyuri laughing. Visiting TakeSushi with Granny and finding that the food, while not the same quality as Michiru's preferred restaurants, had an emotional warmth to it that made it delicious to eat. Ameyuri speaking to her, a virtual stranger she only knew the name of, about her concerns regarding her son. Ameyuri, easily laughing mother of a young boy and loved wife of a man.

"Oh," she said again, the only thing she could say.

A hand landed on her head and roughly, almost carelessly, ruffled it. A silent offer of comfort, returning what she had given earlier that day. Hotaru didn't doubt that her hair would look ridiculous after this but couldn't find enough room in herself to care about how she looked at the moment.

"Her funeral is in two days," Kawahira informed her. He didn't console her with kind words. Truth be told, if he did, she might have felt a little awkward, or undeserving of them. She herself barely knew the woman, after all. Three meetings didn't establish friendship or a very close emotional attachment.

Kawahira drifted out as Hotaru bit her lip, conflicted.

But, despite the short time she had known the woman, Hotaru had liked Ameyuri. And she knew what kind of devastating hole would be torn by her loss to those she meant more to than just a likeable acquaintance on her way to becoming a friend of sorts.

Hotaru began to dial a number, one she was less familiar with than her parents', but knew nonetheless because it had been one of the numbers written in the phone number book packed for her, with promises that she could call any time for any reason and they would always answer or get back to her as soon as possible. She waited patiently as the ring tone repeated itself for three times before the person on the other end picked up.

"Hello?" came a cheerful, strong voice, one of a woman firmly grounded in kindness and solidly confident in herself.

"Makoto-san?" Hotaru took a deep breath, as if she was trying to pull the young woman's courage to herself. "It's Hotaru."

"Hotaru-chan! How have you been? What can I help you with?"

She had no magic of her own. And even if she did, hers wouldn't have been helpful, not really.

Loss of love brought a weakness, a wound opened and vulnerable.

"I need flowers," Hotaru said to the Guardian of Protection. "Special ones, for a funeral."

* * *

When Takeshi was six, his mother died in a car accident.

Takeshi rarely got sick, but he came down with a severe cold that day. He remembered not wanting to take the medicine, because it didn't taste like grapes like the bottle said. The fake grape taste was a lie and he didn't like it, but his mom coaxed him into taking it.

Through the fever and the chills, Takeshi received the news that his mother had been in a car accident. Or rather, his father did, and that was the weakest he had ever seen his father. Shoulders hunched, face lined and eyes leaking tears, his father looked fragile, like a drinking glass Takeshi had knocked over the table, about to shatter into tiny jagged pieces at the moment of impact.

To be honest he remembered little of what happened after. He cried, but his mom wasn't there to wipe away the tears and hug him until he felt better. His cold went away, but his mom didn't come back. The house felt a lot emptier without her laughing at least once a day, loud and bright, and neither of them smiled because there was no one to match them.

In matching clothes of an off-shade white he had never worn before, Takeshi stood at his father's side and watched as other adults in black clothes came in to give their condolences before bowing at the closed casket sitting in front of his mother's picture.

It all felt very numb to Takeshi, like a really bad dream he couldn't wake from. As if it wasn't actually happening, or he was detached from it somehow. Mom liked laughing. Would she be laughing at her own funeral, Takeshi wondered. Trying to cheer up others?

Death was supposed to be something that came to old people. His mom was old, but not that old. It didn't make sense, or at least he didn't want it to make sense.

He focused instead on the people entering, solemn-faced and in black, and that was what let him catch Hotaru slipping in. She was dressed in black like all the others, but unlike them, she was carefully holding three flowers to her chest, stems nearly as long as her arm, and she was here by herself. Not even the old woman she had come with to TakeSushi was with her.

She looked at him and his father, the only ones in white in the room, but his father was speaking to the elderly couple that ran the ramen shop they sometimes went to. Her eyes fell on his briefly, and she nodded to acknowledge him before she turned away and made her way to the casket.

Takeshi watched as she set one of the flowers in front of the casket. It wasn't anywhere people could step on, just in front of the incense that filled the room with a scent he found grating to his senses. No one else was doing it, and the action drew some eyes to her, but she ignored all of them like she was in a world of her own and silently held her spot for a long moment before she left to walk towards him.

The white flowers in her hands stood out against the black she was dressed in, and they changed hands as she offered them to him.

Takeshi took them before he knew what he was doing. They looked different from the white chrysanthemums in the hall, with fewer and larger petals. He had no idea what they were called, much less what he was supposed to do with them.

"Stargazer lilies," Hotaru said. Her voice was quiet, but her words were audible to him through the murmuring din of the room, like she was speaking directly into his ears.

Takeshi stared. "Did I say that out loud?"

She shook her head and explained. "You looked confused."

Had he? Takeshi looked down at the flowers again. That was probably because he still had no idea what he was supposed to do with them. Or with himself.

"They mean sympathy," she murmured, and Takeshi wondered if his face was really that transparent. "These are for you – and your father."

"So we can give them to Mom?" he asked. They were pretty flowers, he guessed. His mom might have liked them.

"No," Hotaru corrected, not unkindly. His mom had said Hotaru was a nice girl. Takeshi could tell that much, but he also thought she was a little different from everyone else. Different in a good way. "For you."

Takeshi looked down at the flowers. He had never received flowers. He was the type to give them, plucking wildflowers – because the bigger, prettier ones were usually the flowers that other people put a lot of effort into growing, he had learned – and bundling them together as an offering to his mother, who would smile widely and thank him before putting them into a glass of water to put on the table at home.

He didn't know what to do with flowers that were for him. These ones – stargazer lilies – were too big to fit inside the usual glass cup.

Hotaru reached out and ruffled his hair, the contact light but still real. Takeshi stared at her. She wasn't smiling, but she looked soft. That was the best word Takeshi could think to describe her with. Soft, like a pillow, or a hug.

"It's hard, losing a parent," she whispered, and it occurred to Takeshi that while he still had his father at his side, she was standing all by herself. The only adult he had seen her with was an old granny. No parents.

"But sometimes, when we mourn the dead, we forget to care for the living."

He glanced up at his father, who was speaking with another man in a suit. Every now and then, though, he would glance towards Takeshi, making sure he was still there. He had a light that didn't look right in his eyes, but it was still his dad.

He was still there. And so was Takeshi.

Takeshi looked back at Hotaru, who was still patiently focused on him.

Like he had every time he had seen her, he asked a question.

"What do you do?" he asked, because every question he had asked her she had known the answer to. "How do you make it better?"

There was no patient explanation that made the mysteries of the world more apparent to him, not this time.

"I don't know," she confessed, the pupils of her eyes flickering to the ground before slowly coming back up, as if they were too heavy for her and required effort to raise. "It never really goes away, and you feel like you have a hole in your life. Even when a lot of time passes and it feels better, there's always bad days when you remember, or you wish that it went differently."

Her words sped up near the end before she cut herself off from continuing. Hotaru stopped talking, but her eyes still looked heavy.

"I don't know," she said again, words distant. "You grieve and you love who or what you can, and you live, and sometimes it gets better. You always miss them, though."

She said she didn't know, but that was still an answer for Takeshi.

"Is it hard?" he asked again. It sounded hard to him now. It _was_ hard for him now, and it seemed impossible.

"Yes." Hotaru could answer this question with confidence, and she confirmed what he suspected. "It's one of the hardest things to do, and it's especially hard when you're alone. Don't let yourself be alone, Takeshi-kun."

Takeshi looked around the room. People – familiar faces, a lot of them, because TakeSushi had customers in the neighborhood he had lived in all his life – but surrounded by them all, he felt alone.

Almost.

In front of him Hotaru had her dark eyes fixed on his own, on him, quiet, patient and understanding.

The flowers, he decided, clutching at them as tightly as he could without wrecking them, were nice.

At the same time he also wanted to cry. Even if his mom wouldn't be there to hug him and wipe away his tears, he still wanted to.

Hotaru hesitated, and then slowly opened her arms in a silent offering. She wasn't as tall as his mom, but –

Takeshi stepped forwards, closing the distance between them one slow step at a time, and awkwardly hugged her. It was the first time he had hugged anyone that wasn't his parents, and she was unfamiliar to him.

Hotaru still wrapped her arms around his stiff body, though.

"Do what you need to do," she whispered to him.

He ended up crying, and she stayed long enough to wipe away his tears until he stopped. It wasn't the same, and it would never be, but it helped.

* * *

AN: Hi my name is Huinari and when I make an OC I always ask myself how they die.

Sweet Dreams~


	9. Usagi

Papa was away for work, Mama had said.

Tsuna knew that was the truth, the same way he knew things usually, except it was different this time, like it had been since two days ago when he woke up in the morning and Papa was gone. Harder, like trying to smell something when his nose was plugged with a cold, or trying to see the world through a thin cloth over his eyes like he did sometimes while pulling on a t-shirt. Everything was blurry, except it wasn't. His eyes were fine, his hearing as well, but the world didn't make sense now.

It frustrated him, because all of a sudden everything was different. Tsuna stared at the sky, trying to find out what was wrong with him. He wasn't sick, Mama said he didn't have a fever or anything, but suddenly the world was different. Harder to know than before. Scarier, because of it.

"Scarier?"

"Like monsters under the bed," Tsuna tried to explain. If Mama was there with him to check under the bed, then he could look with her and relax because nothing was there except maybe dust bunnies, or a stuffed animal he had dropped. But if he was alone, or if it was night, then he couldn't look under the bed or step too close, because then the monster would grab at his feet and pull him under and eat him.

Tsuna didn't know if there would be a monster there, and he was too scared to check by himself. It was like that now, except with the entire world and almost everyone in the world.

"I see," said the lady with hair like a bunny. She was thoughtful about it, and serious, too. She didn't brush him off. "That does sound scary."

He wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, that was what Papa and his teachers said, but she had helped him up when he tripped and cleaned his wound with her handkerchief, and was listening to him now, so Tsuna decided she was alright. It was still hard to know, but he knew – faint as it was – that she was a good person. A stranger but not a dangerous one, not to him.

Tsuna talked to her because it was impossible to explain to anyone. Mama worried for him, and believed him when he said he was scared and didn't feel right, but she didn't _get_ it. It was frustrating – and a little sad.

But she listened, like she understood.

"Do you know how to get better?" he asked. The weird-tasting syrups he drank when he had a cold weren't going to help him with this, and with how difficult it was to know people, everyone scared him. They felt like blurs to him, black and monstrous.

Mama was fine. Papa might have been fine too, but he had left to dig for oil in a faraway place he forgot the name of. Bunny Lady was okay because she was easier to know than anyone he had met so far.

Maybe she would know the answer. It was hard to know now, but it felt right asking her.

To Tsuna's disappointment, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I've never been good at studying, so I'm not smart like some of my friends."

Bunny Lady looked even more disappointed than he felt, and Tsuna hurried to make her feel better. "That's okay. I guess I'll just . . ."

Just what?

Tsuna couldn't finish the sentence. What _could_ he do? It was hard to know people, and they felt like monsters. They scared him.

Even kids his age scared him. How was he supposed to make friends when everyone in the world was scary? He wanted friends. He wanted to not be scared. He didn't want to be a hero, but he wanted enough bravery to be not scared of the darkness under his bed, or other people.

"It's not fair," he mumbled. He wished his papa would come home quickly. He wished other people weren't so scary. He wanted friends, people he could know like his parents.

Bunny Lady ran a hand through his hair, and it felt kind. Different from how Papa did it, and not quite like Mama's.

"No, it's not," she agreed with him. She slid off the bench they had been sitting on and crouched in front of him so they were at eye level. She had wide blue eyes, and with her golden hair long, longer than anyone's he had ever seen and in an elaborate style like a rabbit's she almost looked like a princess, even if she didn't have a crown or a dress.

"I have to go now," she told Tsuna. "But before I go, do you want to see a little magic trick?"

Tsuna was a little disappointed she would be leaving, but the question she asked made him curious. "Sure."

She took out a large silver crystal from her pocket, shaped like an egg – except it stood on the pointy end instead of the round part, like it was floating.

"I think," Bunny Lady said as he stared at the large crystal. It was like the diamond on his mama and papa's rings, except so much bigger. And it wasn't a toy, he knew. It was special. "That you're already a boy with a brave heart."

"Even if I'm scared?" Tsuna asked, tearing his attention away from the sparkly stone. She was telling the truth, which didn't really make sense. She heard him talk about how he was now scared of the world, and she thought he was brave?

"Even if you're scared. Because you still want to be brave, right?" She beamed at him, smile as bright as the crystal in her hands. "That takes courage, especially when everything scares you."

He didn't really feel brave, though. Maybe it was like how getting pricked with needles even when they hurt a lot more than what the doctor said made him brave.

"Will this magic trick make me better?" Tsuna asked. The stone was special. Bunny Lady was special.

"I don't know," admitted the Bunny Lady. "But – I don't want you to think there's something wrong with you right now, because there isn't. It's okay to be scared, or not feel brave. So put your hands over the Silver Crystal, like that, good."

The crystal felt warm. It wasn't usual for rocks to be warm like this, but Tsuna knew – faintly – that it was okay. It lay between his fingers, and she wrapped her larger hands around his so that they both held it.

"If there's nothing wrong with me," Tsuna said, his heart beating fast enough for him to feel it in his palms. Or maybe it was the rock that was beating like a heart, steady and strong. "Then what?"

Bunny Lady leaned in.

"I wish," she said, whispering like it was their secret. The insides of his mouth and throat were dry, and Tsuna knew it was something big – like the sky, endless and wide and impossible to touch. Something so big it was hard to fully know it. "That you'll be happy."

Light shone out from between their fingers, bright and pretty and soft. Like the full moon on a clear night, surrounded by shining stars. It was a nice light.

Being happy. Tsuna considered it, long after Bunny Lady had left and he was home, taking a bath with Mama. He was still scared of the world, but he decided that 'happy' was something he wanted to be. Bunny Lady had said she wasn't smart, but he thought she was smarter than she had said she was.

* * *

"I can't believe I forgot to ask for his name," bemoaned Usagi, ready to tear her hair out in frustration. "I'm so stupid!"

Hotaru quietly laughed into her sleeve. After Setsuna, Michiru, Haruka and Ami had come for their turns visiting her in Namimori, it was Usagi's turn, finally, months later after Hotaru's arrival. True to herself she had run into a young boy while wandering the streets, lost, and found something about him that she had stopped to listen to.

"He was sad," Usagi had tried to describe, brows furrowed as her hands made squiggling gestures in her attempts to animate her explanations. "And – frustrated, but at himself."

But unable to find any traces of magic on him that might have hinted at an outside influence, Usagi had done what little she could – and blessed the boy with the Legendary Silver Crystal.

"Nothing really spectacular or anything," Usagi had explained when Hotaru had raised her eyebrows, because the Legendary Silver Crystal was generally _not_ something that fell under the category of 'little'. "Just – wishing him the best."

A little bit of goodwill, easing the panic he must have felt. Not erasing his fear altogether, but a gentle reminder that he was not alone. A soft nudge towards happiness, towards taking a risk, sometimes.

Hotaru sipped at her tea and considered what would likely happen. What Usagi described was something she found a little familiar – that of having a kind of sense, a cognition of sorts, and then losing it. Essentially it was what she was going through right now – knowing, remembering what it was like to be Saturn but not being able to access it, and that making all the difference. Hotaru was old enough to know the reason behind the loss and could accept it, frustrating as it was.

But a five-year old boy? Who didn't even seem fully aware of _what_ he had lost, just knew that he had lost it, something he had been with for as long as he could remember?

The world would have been terrifying. It would have been like losing a sense and suddenly being disconnected from the world in one way. Like going blind, or deaf.

He would eventually get used to it. And as Usagi had wished for, he would eventually find happiness.

Usagi hadn't done more because to use more of the crystal's power in Namimori, so close to Hotaru, would have hurt her. It was only after she met up with Hotaru and heard more of the new friend she had made that Usagi realized she could have offered the young boy something else – a friend that could help him know the world didn't have to be a scary place. Both of them could be friends, the boy could make friends like he had wanted, and Hotaru would have been less alone.

It was a good idea, except Usagi had forgotten to ask for the boy's name. Or, really, even let him know that there was someone he could be friends with.

"Well," Usagi said sheepishly. "I'm still glad you have a friend here."

About three weeks ago all the sailor scouts had suddenly found themselves deeply interested in a boy named 'Yamamoto Takeshi'. Ami had done some digging, and reported nothing unusual, per say. His parents had owned a sushi restaurant, and the mother had died in a car accident recently. They also owned a family dojo and had no relatives – uncles, aunts, grandparents, no one – left, but other than that, nothing.

An ordinary boy in the ordinary (?) town of Namimori, who had become friends with Hotaru.

A boy who had lost his mother in an accident, a little like her. Partly because of that, and partly because of Ameyuri's kindness, and partly because Takeshi was the kind of person she couldn't help but be weak to, Hotaru had asked for Makoto's help.

Like Usagi's blessing, it wasn't much on the grand scale of things. Makoto's flowers, grown by Sailor Jupiter, and more importantly by someone who genuinely loved and cared about her plants, were good for the heart, helping cleanse negative feelings. Less suffering, less trauma. More accepting, more peace. Goodwill and love, helping ground him and his father so that they wouldn't be swept away in their grief.

Hotaru hadn't expected for flowers to make Takeshi open up to her. It was probably more than that, honestly, but something had changed in him that day, and he had let her into his deceptively exacting boundaries. Special as they were, the flowers could only offer so much support. They were temporary, fleeting.

Takeshi's father was better at being there for him emotionally, far better than hers had been, but he was a newly-single father who still had to work to support his family, and that meant Takeshi was often alone now.

She couldn't take the place of his mother, but she could still be there for him, in a way no one had for her. In a way she had wished for, when she was cold and lonely and in pain.

It was possible that he would grow bored of spending time with her, or recover from grieving and no longer need her in his life, and Hotaru would accept his decision when he made it.

"I'm glad, too," Hotaru said, instead of speaking her thoughts. "But thank you for thinking of me, and of the boy. Whatever his name is," she added with a wink.

Maybe it would be the best for the unknown boy, that the princess didn't forcibly return whatever had been lost from the boy. It would allow for slow exposure to the world as he was now so that the boy could recover his lost bravery and rediscover the world and realize for himself that he didn't have to fear the unknown as much. This way, his fear could return to a healthier, more normal level. What was gained through personal trial and error was more precious than what was given, after all.

The fact that she hadn't been able to help the boy as much as she could have or introduce him to Hotaru clearly bothered Usagi, however, because she kept mulling over it until the end of her visit.

"I'll keep an eye out for him the next time I visit," Usagi promised on her way out. "He has a good heart, really! I think you two would be good friends!"

Hotaru, exhausted from the painful day, nodded as she waved. She could hear more about the new training regimen of the sailor scouts over the phone. "Take care on your way back home!"

As if she had jinxed her, Usagi tripped that very moment and fell with a scream.

"Usagi-san!" cried out Hotaru, panicked. This was not the way their princess was supposed to go. She wasn't supposed to go, _period_ , but especially not like this.

Luckily Usagi was nothing if not resilient, and she was back on her feet in an instance. "I'm okay, I'm okay!"

Hotaru exhaled, in equal parts relief and concern, as her princess left with a final wave goodbye and a promise to come back to visit.

* * *

AN: Since canonically, Tsuna says he's speaking with Iemitsu for the first time in 2 years when he appears, Iemitsu hasn't gone away just yet he just went to take Nono back and also get some work done. (But he won't appear in the story until his canonical appearance anyways so either way).

Tsuna and Usagi are quite similar in some ways, I think. If Usagi had Flames she'd definitely be a Sky.

Sweet Dreams~


	10. Haru

The day after Usagi's visit, Kawahira showed up. Knowing him, he had timed it precisely that way to avoid meeting Usagi.

"Flowers?" he queried, as she washed and put away the dishes. Granny had gone to the local bath house, and Hotaru had volunteered to stay and clean up. She wasn't surprised Kawahira had showed up randomly – he always did – but his question was random and didn't really make sense.

Hotaru blinked before it clicked. The flowers, for Ameyuri's funeral. "How did you even know? You haven't been in Namimori since you told me."

"That you know of," Kawahira countered.

Hotaru lifted one eyebrow, because he was just being difficult now. "Were you?"

"I might have been," he eluded. "I don't always drop by home when I come back to Namimori."

Finished with the dishes, Hotaru wiped her hands on her apron and took it off. "Did you do that this time?"

He wasn't in the mood to be deliberately obfuscating today apparently, at least not for too long.

"Not this time," Kawahira admitted easily enough, and really, was that so hard? "I was busy in Italy."

She made a noise of sympathy. "What did you do in Italy?"

"Oh, this and that. Check on some precious stones, monitor past and ongoing investments, scout out future choices, look at new flowers. Speaking of flowers – flowers?"

It wasn't one of his best evasions. He really must not have wanted to talk about it.

"Flowers," she confirmed. Sympathy and condolences and a bit of guilt. Respect for the dead was hard to express in words, and so Hotaru had chosen the language of flowers. "Stargazer lilies."

"Huh," Kawahira mused. "I guess we were seeing opposite things."

His eyes looked old and not-quite mortal again.

"You never did tell me how you knew," she pointed out quietly, voice barely raised above a murmur. He could ignore it if he wanted to, pretend he hadn't heard. She got ready to leave, thinking he wouldn't say anything.

He didn't. "I was the priest of funeral rites in Elysion, the one to wash the bodies so they would be cleaned and purged of their sins from life, and leave for the Underworld healed, not punished."

His words were heavy with a longing affection and deep sorrow. Saudade, as Michiru might have said to describe it. In that moment he was held by the ghost of his memories, and like a sailor being pulled into the depths of the ocean's waters by sirens he didn't resist their lull.

In that moment Hotaru saw more of Acheron, and the old melancholy deposited over all his years than she had ever seen before, even more than the time he had told her a 'story' of how he and a few others had survived her annihilation.

The moment shattered when Kawahira caught her eye and grinned, as if her wide-eyed look of surprise was enough to snap him out of whatever memories had enraptured him.

"I know when funerals are coming around," he said, a simple way of answering her question, one she was less curious about now. "Habits left over from old jobs."

Kawahira ruffled her hair. Any trace of Acheron was gone – covered up, hidden, tucked away out of sight by the untidy mortal man with a love for ramen. "Good choice, with the flowers."

He turned around and left, before she could consider apologizing or asking if he was okay.

* * *

Takeshi grieved, as he should, and he moved on in his own time. To Hotaru's pleasant surprise, he didn't push her away after. Like Ameyuri had thought, he did let her in. She just wished it hadn't taken the woman's death for this to happen.

Slowly, they figured out a routine. He still had school and other things in life, unlike her, so she adjusted her schedule to fit his. At least once a week, usually on the weekend in the afternoon when the restaurant wasn't busy, she dropped by for dinner there. Sometimes Granny came along, but sometimes she just asked for takeout.

Takeshi left her alone for a moment to go wash his hands, and his father, dressed in the white of a sushi chef, peered at her over the counter. They had been introduced – by Ameyuri, back when she had been alive, and again by Takeshi when she came back to see him – but he looked at her now, with the face of a man who had something to say.

"You've been looking out for him," he started.

Hotaru nodded, but under her calm façade she did sweat a little. Did he want her to leave his son alone? Maybe he didn't approve, or –

The man's face crumpled a little, lips twisting with grief and creasing the corners of his mouth, as if he was stifling a sob.

"Thank you," he said, his voice rough with unshed tears.

Oh. _Oh_.

She probably should have expected that, from Takeshi's father and Ameyuri's husband. Not a 'stay away from my son' or 'get away from our family' or 'why couldn't you save her'.

"He's," Takeshi's father paused, and turned his eyes to the ceiling for a moment. Hotaru didn't press and waited for him to compose himself. "He's been better about it, thanks to you."

"It's-" to say 'nothing' would have been wrong. "The least I could do."

And it wasn't a lie. She didn't have her powers, and even if Saturn had been present, she couldn't save everyone. She could not stop death, only ensure room for hope and rebirth afterwards.

(But Ameyuri had been a Capricorn, technically under her protection, and Tomoe Hotaru by herself could have done nothing to help her – )

(It was only a question of just which planet would influence her, nothing to do with her directly, but still – )

(So really, it _was_ the least she could do.)

The older Yamamoto turned his head from the cutting board in front of him and cleared his throat a few times.

"Come over any time," he said, smiling with a kind of fondness that was genuine in its own gruff way. "I think the least _I_ could do is get you something on the house."

Hotaru thought, as Takeshi returned to take his seat next to her, that the young boy could have probably recovered well enough on his own even if she hadn't been there, with a father like him.

Takeshi beamed at her. "The tuna is the best one," he said with the confidence of an expert in the field. She cracked a smile as well, because in a way, she supposed he would be the expert.

TakeSushi became a part of her schedule after that, because how could it not?

Other days they met at the park, less to play and more for him to enjoy a sense of freedom. He had realized too early that he was now the only family his father had left, and he couldn't make himself be a child to him, no matter what Hotaru said about him actually being a child.

It wasn't that Takeshi was cruel or rude in nature, but rather that he sometimes found people stifling. Clever as he was, he had realized that being different meant risking isolation or shunning, and camouflaged himself into a smiling, happy-go-lucky boy. It wasn't hard for him – his nature was close to that – but he pushed parts of himself back, covered it with a smile and let that be all the world saw of him.

As Ameyuri had said, he was someone that didn't truly let anyone get close to him. Fooled by his smiling demeanor, most of his peers would think themselves to be friends of his, while Takeshi didn't consider them as his.

That he could differentiate in social interactions like this at such a young age was testament to his high intelligence. He might not have enjoyed or liked the school subjects – and Hotaru, who found herself helping him through his homework more often than not, knew that best – but he was intuitive and sharp, and if it weren't for the magic Kawahira had cast to hide her, she knew he would have noticed her frozen time and figured that something was wrong with her.

But that intelligence also meant he was isolating himself. Mature didn't necessarily mean good. He was still a child, he shouldn't have had to think or worry about this.

"I have Dad," Takeshi said with a shrug when she asked who he was close to. "And you."

He said it like it was obvious that the two of them were all he needed in life.

And, well, it was very flattering, and Hotaru couldn't make herself push him to make more friends when he said very firmly that she and his father were enough for him. She could only hope that eventually he'd find someone else he could call a friend as well, because one day, she would have to leave.

So that became Hotaru's life. Study at home, practice the violin, help Granny, talk with her parents and the other sailor soldiers over the phone, occasionally break the comfortable silence between her and Kawahira when he showed up, and spend time with Takeshi. Time went by for everyone except her, and she measured it by the passing seasons and the growing height of her friend. The only thing that she disliked about this arrangement was how Takeshi seemed adamant on her drinking milk.

"I don't like milk," Hotaru had said bluntly, after the fifth offer. At this point she didn't even make an effort made to turn him down gently. Gentle didn't work. He needed the force of a sledgehammer to get the point, and maybe even then it wouldn't get across.

"It's good for you," Takeshi insisted. He had brought different flavors, thinking that might be the problem when the root cause of her refusal to drink was her dislike of milk itself. She didn't mind things made from milk, but milk? No. "It'll help you grow taller."

It _really_ wouldn't. But she couldn't very well tell him the reason for _that_.

"Milk is good for you because it has calcium," Hotaru tried to explain. "I take supplements and eat things that have calcium. I _really_ don't like milk."

Takeshi considered her words, and then beamed brightly. "You should still drink milk!"

This, Hotaru knew with the dreaded feeling of the unavoidable approaching, would be something she would have to bear with for as long as she knew him. She was, unfortunately, proven correct on this. Kawahira found it utterly hilarious, as did her parents.

Over two years after her arrival in Namimori, nearing three years of having stayed in the town with Kawahira and Granny, Hotaru found her life's routine shaken up once more when she came home to witness what appeared to be a candidate for a roommate being interviewed.

"So your mom wants to leave and your dad wants her to leave. What do _you_ want?" Granny asked her guest, a girl a little younger than Hotaru's fixed age.

"Haru doesn't want to go back home!" cried the young girl with chestnut hair braided on both sides of her head. "Haru's parents hate each other!"

Granny, the person most likely responsible for bringing her to the office, was as blunt as always. "Then don't."

'Haru' cried harder. Granny let her, and Hotaru followed her lead by letting the younger girl cry while she made herself useful. She retrieved a few cups from the kitchen, boiled hot water and set a few snacks – fruit jellies were the available option today, courtesy of Makoto as per usual – on the tray before bringing it in. Haru's sobbing was decreased by the time she had returned, reduced to hiccoughs and sniffles.

With an inhale of breath that Hotaru had learned to recognize as the beginning of a speech, Granny shuffled forwards. "Listen up, Haru-kun."

The brusque order left little room for argument, Hotaru knew from having been on the receiving end of one a few times over the course of her stay in the Kawahira residence. She silently brought out her handkerchief and tucked it into the younger girl's hand in exchange for the one she had been using, a flowery pink-patterned one she recognized as Granny's that was already dampened and limp with tears.

"Hahi?" she squeaked, and the handkerchief Hotaru tucked into her hand was left unused.

"I don't know what's going on with your parents," Granny said, matter-of-factly. She _did_ have a habit of not really paying attention to what went on around her. Kawahira had confided in Hotaru that the only reason she was able to keep the realtor business open despite the very few customers they had gotten over the years was because of investments he had made, not because of her lacking business sense. "But if you don't like it and you want to run away from home, that's your choice."

Namimori was a wonder, as were its residents and the common sense they preached. Hotaru waited for her to explain her reasoning, because that way it made more sense and saved a lot of trouble.

"That being said it's dangerous for a child to just run away from home," Granny continued like she hadn't just said something most would consider a terrible piece of advice. "Children should be protected and given safe spots where they don't have to deal with adult stupidity. If you want to run away, you come here."

 _That_ was more like what she expected from Granny – offering an escape, no strings attached.

Haru sniffled.

"You can blow your nose if you'd like," Hotaru offered quietly when the girl aborted a movement to use the handkerchief.

"Haru couldn't," she mumbled. "Come here, that is." She blew her nose on the handkerchief, with a loud sound that felt unclogging simply to hear.

"Thank you," she added, voice much less nasally than before. "Haru will wash it before she returns it."

"Of course you can," Granny said in the 'don't-argue-with-me' voice she did so well. A kind-hearted dictator, Hotaru thought fondly as she pushed the jelly – brightly colored, with pieces of fruit suspended inside like gems – towards Haru. "I have room to spare. Why couldn't you?"

"But," Haru mumbled. "Haru doesn't want to be a bother."

"Every girl should leave their home at least once in their life," Granny said, passing on advice Hotaru had never heard before. Maybe because she was already doing it when they first met and had already fulfilled the life quota as said by Granny. "You might as well do it safely, while you're at it. Eat some jelly."

Hotaru scooped up a spoonful of the strawberry-flavored jelly into Haru's mouth when she opened it to protest.

"They're good," she assured the younger girl over her muffled sound of surprise. Anything made by Kino Makoto was good, to be honest, and while it was her first time trying her hand at jelly-making, the tall woman had created culinary masterpieces once again. "And you wouldn't be a bother. She took me in, too."

Haru was distracted from the jelly. "You ran away too?"

Hotaru shook her head. "I was sick so I had to leave home. It's not contagious," she added to reassure her as she set the yellow jelly with the honeyed lemon on top in front of Granny. The old woman loved sour things, and Makoto always made sure to throw in at least one sour thing in everything she sent to Hotaru.

"Taking in kids is no bother," Granny said, rough but reassuring. "Safety is what's important."

Haru looked reluctant, eyes flitting from Hotaru to Granny.

"If you want to go home," Hotaru offered, fully aware that Granny and her habit of strong-arming people could be a bit much on the uninitiated. "That's okay too. Granny just wants you to have a choice."

The younger girl remained hesitant but then Granny began telling them both a story about the time she had decided to run away and ended up lost in the mountains near Namimori. The story involved walking in on a fight that started because of a love triangle, getting caught up in a plot to dress up as ghosts and haunt the cheating man, a bear, and the beginning of an urban legend about the lantern festival in Namimori.

"And that's why no one goes to the graveyard during the lantern festival," she finished with. "At least, they didn't while my generation was young. Who knows what they're doing there now."

Haru had tears in her eyes, though for a different reason than before. Hotaru, who had also been in stitches, couldn't blame her.

"Did you really dig a hole in the graveyard?" Haru wheezed. "And – and stay in it until people came by?"

"It was hard work," Granny said, far too prim for someone recounting the tale of digging a hole in a cemetery for the purpose of trying to give a person a heart attack. "I'm never digging my own grave again, fake or not. Cremate me, I say. Scatter my ashes to the winds so there's no digging involved for anyone."

It was a morbid joke, all things considered, but they were still on the wave of euphoria from the story. Haru caught Hotaru's eyes, and they both burst into giggles again.

* * *

Haru did eventually end up returning to her home. There was a choice offered to her now, somewhere she could go if she wanted to.

"Sometimes having that choice makes all the difference," Granny said, after they had walked Haru to her home. Her parents had been relieved, hugging Haru. They hadn't looked like people who hated each other, but they weren't people Hotaru knew, and it wasn't her place to make judgements on their character. Haru and what she felt was important.

Haru, who had looked like there was a weight off her shoulders now.

"That freedom makes it less entrapping, and easier to make better choices." The wrinkles on her face deepened.

The girl came by after that, to talk with Granny or with Hotaru. She didn't run away, but she came by as if to check if the invitation was still open to her, and they didn't prod rudely. Haru told them herself.

"Mommy and Daddy are working things out, and they promised they still love Haru," she said, looking light-hearted and freed now that everything seemed to have worked out. "But I still wanted to come visit."

"Good. You can go and play with her." Never one to let an opportunity pass, Granny sent Hotaru outside with Haru.

That had come out of the blue. Bewildered, Hotaru turned to look at Granny as she was pushed outside the door. "Granny?"

"You need more friends than just the Sushi Boy," the old woman claimed. Takeshi didn't mind when Granny called him that to his face, but Hotaru always reminded her that he had a name. "Go out and play."

"Takeshi, Granny." Hotaru had been friends with him since he was five. He was now eight years old. "His name is Takeshi."

Granny was an unmovable force who would not be budged from her ways. "Yes, Sushi Boy."

They were shooed out before Hotaru could even continue attempting the Sisyphean task of changing Granny's mind when she was set on something.

Naturally, the conversation's topic was about Granny Kawahira.

"Haru likes Granny," the younger girl said thoughtfully. "Haru wants to be like her when she's an old woman, too."

"She's very unique," agreed Hotaru. She really was. She could see why Kawahira worked to keep himself in her life.

"Mm-hm," Haru hummed, before she snatched up Hotaru's hand. "Alright, Hotaru-chan!"

The sudden jump took Hotaru off-guard for the second time in a few scant moments. "Huh?"

"Let's go play!" And off she ran, dragging Hotaru along to the playground at the park nearby. She led her to the swings, which, miracle of all miracles, weren't occupied.

Hotaru found herself on the swing, not quite competing but serving as a 'rival'.

"First person to reach the moon wins," Haru said seriously.

"What does the winner get?" Hotaru asked, because she wasn't going to be the one to tell Haru this wasn't how they went to the moon. Also, in terms of determination alone Haru was quite ready to reach the moon with her sheer swinging power.

Haru looked at her with wide eyes. "The moon, of course!"

Hotaru considered it. Usagi probably wouldn't mind. "Alright."

Neither of them reached the moon that day, but by the end of it she somehow found herself friends with Haru. Hotaru didn't find herself very surprised at this outcome.

* * *

AN: Since I ended up not doing that April Fools chapter, have an extra-long chapter with a time skip of roughly two years and the revelation of Hotaru's second friend in Namimori pre-KHR instead (readers: this person).

If you're interested in understanding what Kawahira means / figuring out why he's been out, the hint is that Stargazer lilies are white flowers, and Hotaru was at a funeral, which happens when a person dies.

Sweet Dreams~


	11. Rei

At first glance Haru and Takeshi would have been very similar. Both of them had bright, wide smiles, and they were social and extroverted by nature. 'People' people, in a way.

But Hotaru had known Takeshi and his surprising selectiveness for a while now, and it didn't take her long to notice that Haru and Takeshi were different. Takeshi was choosy. He held everyone except those he 'approved' of outside an invisible line.

Haru was not. What one saw was what one got with her, open and eager and embracing. It might have been overwhelming to be on the receiving end of that kind of enthusiasm, and Hotaru had to admit, she was also a little overwhelmed.

Haru's way of overwhelming someone, though, was the good way. The kind that gave and gave and gave, like an endless ocean.

Hotaru, who was always weak to outgoing people that treated her with genuine affection for whatever reason, didn't push her away. More accurate would be to say that she put up the resistance of a paper bag against a tsunami.

Not to say that Takeshi wasn't a good friend. He was. It was just that Haru was a little like how Chibi-Usa had been when they first met, with the same kind of open acceptance. Not asking for anything, not judging her for differences . . .

Haru wasn't Chibi-Usa, wasn't the same as the pink-haired girl that had been her saviour, but still. Hotaru quite liked her.

"She sounds interesting," Rei noted. The Soldier of Fire was here to check up on Hotaru, and to restock her paper charms. Hotaru was fairly weak to possession, something Rei and Ami theorized being due to a combined effort of Mistress 9's possession, and Sailor Saturn not having had much exposure to various types of magic. Unlike the others, she had more experience fighting in this life than the previous, and even then, she had fought less than her fellow guardians, and hadn't had the chance to build up an 'immunity'.

Add in her current condition, and it meant the sailor soldiers were worried she might be possessed by a ghost without anyone around to help her.

Kawahira had been offended to hear that, and had actually grumbled about it.

"I might not be a sailor guardian, but I'm more than enough to keep a few wayward spirits away, thank you very much," he had muttered before taking her out to eat ramen. Three bowls had to be consumed before he was appeased. They were scolded by Granny later, for ruining their appetites, but Hotaru learned that Kawahira was also skilled in not just illusions, but also exorcisms and fooling the senses.

None of the sailor soldiers were taking any chances, however, and so Hotaru received, in her usual care packages, papers written by Rei herself, the very ones she used to exorcise evil spirits. By now it was habit to carry at least one of them on her person.

"She is," Hotaru said. Speaking of Rei's charms, Haru had found one and promptly gone on to weave a wild tale of the two of them becoming priestesses to fight evil. Haru didn't know much about being a priestess, that had been clear, but despite the factual inconsistencies Hotaru had enjoyed herself. "Come to think of it, I think she's a little like Minako-san."

Rei had a talent for asking hard questions, and her talent shone in that moment, unfortunately for Hotaru. "How does she get along with your first friend?"

Hotaru winced. "They haven't met yet?"

Rei smiled, a little touch of impishness to her usual composed smile. "Would you like a good luck charm for that?"

Because _that_ was reassuring to hear, coming from a woman with psychic powers.

"Please don't jinx me," Hotaru begged, and Rei chuckled.

"Get it over with sooner rather than later," the young priestess suggested to her after declaring her to be in good spiritual health.

Hotaru knew she was right, and sighed.

Takeshi was surprised when Hotaru asked if he wanted to meet another friend of hers.

His exact words were: "You have friends other than me?"

Which was a little rude, and she told him exactly that. She had Chibi-Usa, first and unforgettable friend, she had Takeshi and now she had Haru. As Setsuna might say, quality, not quantity, was what was important.

"Haha, sorry, didn't mean it that way." Takeshi shrugged and grinned. "And sure."

Haru also took it well, overall.

"A boyfriend?" Haru gasped. "Dangerous!"

"Takeshi's not a boyfriend," Hotaru said patiently. "He's a friend. And a boy." Also, that seemed to be her newly adopted verbal tic. English practice was good, and so was being bilingual. Good on Haru, taking the initiative.

"I see!" Haru smacked a fist against her palm. "This is a fight to determine who gets to be Hotaru-chan's best friend!"

"Not at all." That was the _last_ thing she wanted. Takeshi was tall for his age, and healthy, but Haru was also a very determined person when she set her mind on something. Whatever the outcome of a fight happened to be between the two of them, Hotaru _did not want it_. "No fighting. Please?"

They couldn't meet at TakeSushi, because that was Takeshi's place, and if things turned bad she didn't want it to be at the Yamamoto family's business. The library couldn't work because it would be rude to be loud there. Going to someone's house was also out of the question, especially since the two didn't even know each other.

Hotaru met them at the park.

"Haru, this is Yamamoto Takeshi," she introduced. "Takeshi, Miura Haru."

It was almost anti-climatic – and therefore such a relief – how easily they got along.

Takeshi peered at Haru, and Haru, though nervousness was clear on her face, stared right back, head tilted up because Takeshi was tall for his age but by no means demonstrating any signs of deference. One staring contest after being introduced, and something had passed between them as Hotaru metaphorically wrung her hands together and hoped for the best.

She _might_ have been overreacting, but she still remembered being a bit of a jealous brat over Chibi-Usa making new friends. And while Hotaru was nowhere near the charming person Chibi-Usa was, sometimes people just didn't mix, for whatever reasons they had.

Luckily for her, she made friends with good people who didn't go around picking fights or jealously guarding their friend.

"Nice to meet you, Haru," Takeshi said, easy grin spreading over his face, and never had the sight of his usual smile brought Hotaru such relief as it did then. "You can call me Takeshi. A friend of Hotaru's is a friend of mine."

"Hahi?" Haru started at his sudden change in atmosphere, before she matched the expression with her own. "Alright, Takeshi-kun!"

They got along like a house on fire, which was a relief for her.

What surprised Hotaru – and yet didn't, in some ways – was how they easily became friends, but never left her out. She was better than she had been, but at the heart of things Hotaru was a fairly quiet soul, and she was nowhere near as active as Takeshi or Haru, in terms of personality and physical activity. Takeshi had just started baseball, too, finding something to be truly passionate about, and Haru loved gymnastics, and the two of them had the most difficulty staying still, but still they decided they liked her enough to stay friends with her.

That she wasn't easily replaced meant she was significant to them, somehow, and Hotaru appreciated their presence in her life more than she could ever tell them.

* * *

"What is it like?"

Kawahira rarely asked her questions where he seemed to actually want an answer from her. Perhaps due to his age and experience, he had a way of noticing things about her before she did. His questions were usually to make conversation.

Hotaru wasn't sure what he was referring to, here. This was a question where he genuinely was curious, in his slightly detached, lethargic way.

He clarified. "Having had the power to see and transcend, and not being able to access it all of a sudden."

Hotaru considered it, bemused by both the question and him. Years later, he was only now asking this about her?

But then again, she and he looked almost identical to when they had first met, two souls unchanging outside, unaffected by the stream of time. In the grand scale of things, she guessed that it wasn't all that long ago, not to him.

"Weird," she said, a rather ineloquent answer. It wasn't a falsehood, but it also felt too simple to be the full answer, so she clarified. "Different."

"I could have guessed that myself," Kawahira said dryly.

True. She needed to try to give him a better answer. Hotaru tapped her fingers against her knee, thinking.

"It felt like a change in viewpoint," she said at last.

From standing above, far above – like, say, on a tower, or in a high-floored building – to standing on the ground level. There was less she could see from the ground than she could high up.

But she could also see things up close.

Sailor Saturn was meant, in her previous life, to be active for a very short amount of time. Her precognition came from that – so she could assess the situation quickly, and do what she needed to do. Seeing the main stream of things, the 'flow', so to say, was easy. Destiny and fate were, after all, the course of events leading to a destination, and it was her duty to ensure that the necessary rebirth would be given only when the time was right.

It gave her the ability to see far from above, but not up close. Not the individual details, the small threads and knots and shades that made up the entire tapestry.

The whole picture.

Both had their pros and cons. Hotaru would not deny that it was nice to be 'grounded', to be able to focus on the details.

But when it came down to making a final decision, it didn't matter what her preferences were. Hotaru's choice would always have to be to see the whole picture.

"Do you miss the power?"

Kawahira was in a questioning mood, but he had never discouraged her own questions, even if he had not answered some, nor had he forbidden her from sharing information with the others, especially Mamoru. Hotaru saw no reason to not answer his question now.

"I do."

It was a part of her. But if it had just been that, she might have been okay.

It was because like this, bound and restrained, she could not be with the others, could not help them protect the solar system, their princess, that she missed it the most. What allowed her to be with what she valued most out of reach –

Frustration was understating things. Even if she had friends, even if it was a life of peace and contentment, there was a part of her that would always return to her duty.

His eyes slid towards her, hidden depths behind the dead-eyed stare. Haruka, when she had met the man, had been worried, though it wasn't until she came to Namimori to visit that she shared her reason for suspicion with Hotaru.

"He looks like your father," she had muttered, eyes diverting to the left as was her habit when she was embarrassed.

To be perfectly honest, Hotaru had not even thought there was a resemblance between Tomoe Souichi and the form of Kawahira Riku until Haruka pointed it out. Partly because she hadn't thought about her biological father with all that was going on, and partly because they were so different in their mannerisms.

Tomoe Souichi had always dressed in fine clothes, intent on presenting an immaculate form to the world, and even then his true madness could not always be held back. He wore his polite mask, and he was cold.

Acheron, Kawahira Riku, dressed sloppily without concern for how he might appear to other people. He slumped and hunched, whined and bemoaned, and he drifted in and out, no schedule to his coming and going.

He was still hard to read, and Hotaru knew that perhaps she would never fully know him, but she knew one thing, even without the reassurance Helios had given them all.

Kawahira did not wish harm on them.

He kept one step's distance and Hotaru knew Granny had noticed it, she must have, but chose not to comment on it, at least not while Hotaru was around. It was the kind of distance that was purposeful, deliberate.

If she had to compare, it was more the type of distance she had observed with Setsuna, sometimes, when the Guardian of Pluto took a quiet moment to observe her family with a fond look in her knowing eyes, basking in the peace and loving in the way she knew best, by watching from afar – as far as she could bear to step away. As if sometimes she couldn't quite believe she deserved what she saw and needed a little objective space to catch her breath.

And that was familiar to Hotaru, in a good way.

So Hotaru had no problems meeting his eyes and answering his questions. There was no fear in her, no meek subservience that came the way it had when Tomoe Souichi had been alive and her guardian.

"But it's okay," Hotaru reassured him, reading mild concern in his eyes. He never said as much, but Hotaru knew, perhaps better than anyone, how to listen to the silence. "I can wait. I know they're waiting for me, too."

A choice, Granny had said, made all the difference. She didn't know how long it would take, but she knew that they would always be waiting for her.

Hotaru didn't feel trapped, knowing of that certainty in the future.

"Hmm." Kawahira mulled over her words before he sighed. "I suppose that's all I can ask for."

He reached out to ruffle her hair, as usual, before he stood up from his seat. He didn't bother straightening out his clothes, rumpled from sitting on them without care.

"See you at dinner, Hotaru-kun," he said. It was the first time he had called her by her first name, and Hotaru blinked before she smiled.

"Don't ruin your appetite by eating ramen again, Uncle," she replied.

"Oh gods, Granny's corrupted you while I've been away." Kawahira faked a shudder, but Hotaru caught sight of the grin on his lips as he left.

* * *

When Haru was younger, she had once been filled with the fear that anything she didn't see would disappear and cease to exist.

That had led her to run around the house, frantically trying to keep an eye on all the rooms. Her mother, after the third time she circled the house loudly scrambling around, had stopped her to ask what was wrong, and tried to reassure her that the world wouldn't disappear just because she wasn't looking at it.

Haru knew that now, but that was exactly how she had felt when she first met Hotaru. Like she would disappear, slip away from the rest of the world if no one was looking.

That was why Haru first began paying attention to her, because the older girl had looked ready to disappear like the mist. Haru decided she liked Hotaru when she didn't make fun of Haru for anything. She _listened_ , and she accepted Haru.

Hotaru was, Haru sometimes thought, the older sister she had always wanted but never had. Partly because Haru was an only child and if she had another sibling, they would have to be younger, regardless of gender, and partly because Haru had never met anyone who was like Hotaru.

She was just good at _everything_. She knew the answers to every question Haru or Takeshi had, she could play the violin and make the most beautiful music, and she was the prettiest person Haru had ever seen, prettier than even people on television.

If there was ever a person who was like a princess from the fairy tale books Haru had liked to read, it was Hotaru.

The more Haru thought about it, the better it fit. Hotaru couldn't go to school because she had poor health, so she was watched over by Granny, like a princess with a fairy godmother, and she seemed to be waiting for someone special to come to her.

Haru shared this theory with Takeshi.

"Huh?" he said.

Haru huffed.

"Hotaru-chan's a princess," she explained, getting a little upset that he couldn't see the obvious. "See how she's pretty and good at everything?"

"She's not very good at baseball," Takeshi replied immediately. Haru resisted the urge to slap her forehead with her palm.

Instead, because she was a mature person who was trying to teach him something, she patiently spelled it out for him. "Princesses don't play baseball."

"They should." He shrugged. "It's fun."

Well, sure, but when did a princess, wearing a crown and a pretty dress, ever play baseball? Those weren't clothes you wore to swing bats or slide into bases. She had seen how many clothes Takeshi went through, and if a princess did _that_ with her clothes that would be terrible.

Also, the balls Takeshi threw were _really_ scary.

"My point is," Haru said. "She's a princess. So we should be her knights and protect her."

Takeshi considered the idea seriously. He didn't have anything against princesses or knights, but there was one thing that was a requirement. "Can I be a baseball-playing knight?"

At this point Haru had accepted that Takeshi came with baseball, like how the summer came with heat and the sun came as a bright ball of light. "Sure."

And that was how he got on board with the idea as well.

Grabbing the camera that her father had given her, one that made pictures immediately, Haru and Takeshi made their way to the usual place. Hotaru was confused when Haru declared she was a princess and they her knights, but accepted it soon, and without arguing as much as Takeshi had.

"And a princess needs a lot of things," Haru said. "A prince on a white horse. A tiara. Pretty dresses. A castle."

Hotaru bit back a smile like she sometimes did and gave her own addition. "A kingdom."

"I don't think we have princes around," Takeshi said, with the manner of someone pointing out the obvious. "Or white horses. And you forgot the knights."

"We're her knights," Haru answered, trying not to huff in exasperation at his lack of imagination. "And to get a prince, a princess needs – a portrait!"

"Huh?" said both Takeshi and Hotaru.

"A beautiful princess has portraits made," Haru explained. Hotaru always read the hard books and Takeshi didn't like reading, which meant that Haru was the expert on fairy tales among them. "And then has them sent to other kingdoms so that all the princes can see how beautiful she is."

"We don't know any princes," Takeshi said. Haru made a frustrated gesture at him, but he laughed it off.

"We'll be prepared if we run into any!" Haru insisted, showing them the camera.

Hotaru giggled.

"I don't know about marrying princes," she said. "But okay. Let's take some pictures."

"Sounds fun," agreed Takeshi, finally getting with it.

"Say cheese!" Haru ordered, and they took turns taking pictures. Some of them ended up very blurry, and the ones Hotaru took were the best ones, but they split them into threes to keep.

It was only at home, when Haru was putting the pictures into her album that her smile slipped away. Sometimes, Hotaru was a little too much like a princess from a fairy tale, like the ones that fell into a deep sleep. Her eyes grew far and mysterious, almost as secretive as she was.

Hotaru was her best friend, and sometimes Haru worried that one day she would disappear like a fairy and never be seen again.

Haru tried to not worry about it. Hotaru wouldn't just leave, at least not without telling them, she knew that now. Haru just didn't want her to leave, at all. She wanted Hotaru to be there as they grew up, so they could have double weddings in big white matching dresses and the prettiest bouquet of flowers. Hotaru's husband would be like a prince, and Haru wanted a prince of her own, too, someone kind and gentle and brave. They'd live next to each other and raise their kids together to be best friends as well. She'd be the best costume designer in Japan, and her husband and Hotaru and maybe Hotaru's husband could be her models. Maybe their kids could even get married so she and Hotaru would actually be sisters.

And then maybe, that way, Hotaru would stop feeling like she would disappear at any moment.

* * *

AN: Just for that last alone Huinari considered Belphegor/Haru. He's a prince, so technically Haru can't complain (readers: this sadist).

This chapter makes reference to Chibi-Usa's picture diary, where Hotaru was once possessed by a ghost. Usagi's response to that was 'Another ghost?!' So I took that and ran with it. If you think about it, Hotaru's been possessed by Mistress 9 (and her own soul/Sailor Saturn couldn't come out until Sailor Moon released the power of the LSC and the Moon Chalice), by a ghost (which I thought was a little weird) and also been controlled with the other senshi by Galaxia. Ergo, sensitivity to possession and Rei making sure she has the ofuda to keep her safe, especially now.

(Kawahira dislikes this because he's more than competent in that area, thank you very much)

Sweet Dreams~


	12. Birthday

Sports Day. Tsuna hated Sports Day. He always messed up, tripping or dropping something or just coming in last place, and then everyone called him 'Dame-Tsuna' and it sucked.

Everyone else had fun, except him.

It sucked. A lot.

Tsuna considered sneaking away, after earning his team last place. No one would really miss him, and this way he wouldn't have to be embarrassed further.

He began inching away, slowly, and then he tripped backwards.

For once in his clumsy life, Tsuna could say it wasn't because of him, at least not completely.

"Ow . . ." mumbled a voice. A voice that sounded like a girl's. A voice that came from the person he was sitting on.

Tsuna scrambled up. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized, and could this day get any worse for him?

It apparently could, because the girl he had just ended up knocking over and sitting on was Sasagawa Kyoko, or the prettiest girl in the class. Just his luck.

"It's okay," she said, giving him a reassuring smile. "No harm, see?"

Thank whatever deity up there giving him some luck, if he had ended up hurting her, Tsuna was pretty sure he'd get lynched. Dame-Tsuna was bad enough, thank you. He didn't need 'Girl-hurting Tsuna' to be a thing as well.

She looked at him a little more closely. "Oh, hey, you're Sawada-kun, the one that just ran the obstacle course, right?"

He cringed. The obstacle course had looked simple – just cones and bottles filled with water, and balloons to carry – but somehow it had turned into a dangerous zone akin to a minefield for him. Only three cones were left standing by the time he had finished, and if people watching him hadn't been laughing, then they were jeering or outright booing him.

Sasagawa Kyoko, apparently, had not been one of those people. "I thought it was great, how you didn't give up," she said, and from anyone else Tsuna might have thought it to be just something said to be polite because there was nothing else about him to compliment, but she sounded so . . . so _genuine_.

She seemed to actually shine bright, like the sun. How was a person so genuinely radiating an aura of kindness and sincerity?

His lips parted as he stared at her, wondering if he was dreaming. Would she remember who she was talking to? Would she frown, stop looking at him like – like he was worth more than just a 'Dame-Tsuna'?

Sasagawa Kyoko was a girl of many surprises. She didn't do any of what he expected her to do.

"Keep it up!" she cheered instead, and ran to her own team.

It was just a few sentences. Just a few sentences and a smile like the sun.

But that day Tsuna fell in love.

* * *

Takeshi's birthday was April twenty-fourth, and Haru's was May third, which meant their birthdays were less than two weeks apart.

Both their birthdays were under the sign of Taurus, and therefore under the protection of Venus. Given their extroverted personalities, Hotaru thought that their zodiac sign was rather appropriate.

Since she didn't have access to her own powers, she usually asked Minako to lightly imbue a blessing onto their gifts, make them less likely to break or bend. This year Takeshi got a new bat – made of an alloy, not wood – and Haru got a sewing machine, because she had gotten an interest in making clothes of her own.

Just over a week ago, they had celebrated Takeshi's eleventh birthday at TakeSushi with Tsuyoshi insisting everything they ate was on the house. Now, at Haru's house, with cake from La Namimorine – Haru's favorite cake place, tied only with the cakes and pastries Makoto sent Hotaru – they celebrated Haru's. She had a party where her school friends came, as did Takeshi before, but like other birthdays in the past this one was private, one where only the three of them – and parents – were attending.

"Hotaru-chan, you shouldn't have!" Haru cried out, even as her eyes sparkled at the sight of her present. Her words didn't match her hand, or how it was longingly reaching out to the machine.

Hotaru didn't bother stopping the smile from spreading across her lips. She hoped that Haru's honest nature would never have to change.

"It's not as expensive as you might think," she reassured Haru, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes with an absent-minded hand. It was a compact machine, capable of only simple functions. Michiru had even suggested a different model, one that was used by professional tailors when she heard what Hotaru was getting for Haru's birthday.

Makoto and Minako, though, had agreed with Hotaru's choice.

"If you spend too much, she'll get pressured," Makoto had said, after giving her approval of Hotaru's choice.

"She's still only eleven," Minako had pointed out when Michiru wavered. "Let her practice with cheaper things, and if she gets better, then get her the expensive model for a later birthday."

And if Haru was no longer interested in making costumes, then Hotaru would use the budget to get her something else.

"You can get it exchanged if you don't like it," Hotaru added. Empty words – she had full confidence that Haru would do no such thing.

"Haru loves it," Haru admitted, brushing a careful finger against the machine. Parts of it was plastic, but the metal parts of it had been touched by Minako, wishing the two children that were Hotaru's friends a happy birthday. "Hotaru-chan . . ."

"Happy birthday, Haru," she said.

She was promptly squeezed in a hug. "The first thing Haru's going to make is a costume for you!"

"I like purple," was the only thing Hotaru said, at this point used to being a mannequin and model for people who loved fashion and designing clothes. If it wasn't Setsuna, it was Haru. She had long since become resigned to it. When she was older Michiru was probably going to join them and have a lot of fun applying makeup on her face.

Well, Hotaru amended, as the cake was brought out and the candles lit. Perhaps not resigned. She did enjoy it, after all. Setsuna always had excellent taste and Haru was always infectious with her fun and cheer. She'd be the happiest, most well-dressed person in the entire town.

Haru closed her eyes and made a wish before blowing out the candles ferociously. All the flames were extinguished, not standing a chance against Haru's determination.

When Haru's mother handed her the plate with her slice of cake, Hotaru took it with a quiet thanks. She brushed her bangs away to get it out of her face, and frowned. Something felt . . . off.

"What did you wish for?" Haru's mother asked, setting aside the knife.

"Hotaru?" Takeshi asked, about to dig into his cake but pausing when he noticed her stillness.

"It's nothing," Hotaru said slowly. She tried to flex inside and found nothing. It wasn't Saturn awakening. She didn't feel like she was in danger, and there seemed to be no threats around.

"I was going to wish for a sewing machine, but Hotaru gave me one, so I wished for all of us to be friends like this, forever," Haru replied. "I saw Nemu-chan and Keiko-chan had a fight at school, and they used to be best friends but now they hate each other, and I didn't want that happening to us."

It was probably nothing, Hotaru decided, and set it aside for now. "Haru-chan, you're not supposed to say what you wished for."

Haru was horrified at that, and it took both Takeshi and Hotaru swearing to her that they would still be her friends, as well as the face paint kit Haru's parents had bought for her to relax. It was probably the face paint kit that had distracted her, though.

Haru wanted a flower with a bumblebee on her nose, which meant her mother painted a flower on her cheek and a bumblebee of about the same size on the other cheek.

"Drawing small isn't a talent I have," she admitted, but Haru didn't seem to mind. Hotaru requested a butterfly, under her eye. Takeshi asked for a baseball, and Haru's mother got confused and accidentally painted the patterns for a basketball in white and red instead of the baseball stitches.

Takeshi, being Takeshi, laughed it off and asked for a baseball bat on his other cheek.

As if there had been a jinx to the wish being spoken out loud, however, Hotaru went home and realized what that incongruity had been when she looked in the bathroom mirror to wash off the face paint.

Her hair had been chin-length for a long time. Actual years had passed without there being any growth, and Hotaru had become accustomed to that.

And yet . . .

Hotaru reached up and tugged at a lock of hair. She had thought her eyes were bothered by her hair a little too often recently but hadn't given it much thought, distracted by Takeshi and Haru's birthdays.

And yet, her bangs had grown. Once they had been just the height to stay out of her eyes, and now they threatened to poke at them, _did_ poke at them occasionally and would grow longer to block her sight if she didn't cut them. Her hair was longer now.

Hotaru looked at her nails, and found her suspicions confirmed. They, too, had grown.

She immediately called her parents to let them know of this change.

Her time was moving again.

* * *

"It hurts less," Hotaru told Ami and Setsuna. Both had dropped everything to come to Namimori as soon as they could, after hearing what had happened. They would have rushed over last night immediately, when Hotaru called, but she had insisted they first get some rest, and not bother Granny from her sleep. They had waited for years, they could wait one more night and come at a decent time.

Having been a doctor for over a year now, Ami looked at her with the eyes of a medical professional assessing her patient.

"You do look better than before," she agreed. "Less pale and sweating in our presence."

Where the pain had once been a ten out of ten, it was now more a five, even with two of them here at once. Still present, still hard to bear, but compared to what it had been, _far_ better than before.

"I still can't transform or use any of my powers, though," Hotaru added. She had tried, and felt a bit of a sting when nothing had happened. An emotional sting more than an actual one due to magic blockage, from disappointment and an emotion she was hesitant to name.

Ami tapped at her computer.

"Your time froze _before_ you lost your powers," she noted. "Since that was the first abnormality that eventually got your powers as Saturn blocked off, it makes sense that your time would begin to flow again before your sailor powers return."

Setsuna looked over her carefully as Ami theorized.

"It's almost entirely back to normal," she said at last. 'Normal' being what she had observed of the time around the other sailor soldiers, because they weren't the same as humans.

"I see." Hotaru was close to getting her powers back, then.

The thought made her happy, because it meant she could return to being Sailor Saturn, return to living a normal life, return to growing older as the days passed into months and years and move her closer and closer to adulthood.

The smile tugging the corners of her lips towards the direction of the heavens stopped, however.

Her time moving forwards, and inevitably her powers returning also meant that she would have to part with yet more friends she had made. Takeshi and Haru. They were no longer the younger children they had been – were now the same age as her, physically – but.

But if she left Namimori, would they stay in contact? They were both social people, both outgoing and adopting people as theirs like they had with her, but would they remember her?

"What do you want to do, Hotaru?" Ami asked gently, as if she had read her mind. Just behind her, Setsuna also had the same soft look of concern on her face.

The question was kindly asked, but it put Hotaru into conflict. Long after Ami and Setsuna had left Namimori to return to Tokyo where all the others were, Hotaru was unable to answer it.

What _did_ she want to do?

The answer was obvious in the moments when she was watching Takeshi play baseball. He shone so brightly, talent so clear even at his young age, as he played with peers that were not on his level, not by far, but it wasn't just his natural skill at the game that made him bright. It was obvious when she was watching Haru stretch, ready to start her gymnastics routine where she would roll and dance and cartwheel with a wide smile on her face like she was flying, free in the sky. Her movements were so filled with life that it almost made her want to move so freely as well.

Hotaru wanted to continue watching them shine brightly with happiness, wanted to stay at their side as their friend.

The question that followed, of course, was also obvious. Would she be able to? Even when Saturn returned?

Hotaru thought about it for a long time. She liked her time at Namimori. She liked the people she had bonded with here – Takeshi and Haru and Granny and Kawahira. Spring gave way to summer, which cooled to autumn, and continued to grow colder until winter arrived, ending the year. Still engulfed in the chill came the new year, and a few days after her 'twelfth' birthday for the second time in her life.

Michiru and Haruka had already dropped by to wish her a happy birthday. Teleportation – and being around her – still hurt, but it was her birthday, and she was feeling better now, much better.

"Maybe your birthday present will be that your powers return," Haruka joked.

Hotaru tried to smile and found the idea surprisingly hard. It would mean she could return, yes, but it would also mean she had to bid her friends farewell. A mixed bag of a gift.

Michiru elegantly elbowed Haruka in her ribs before sweeping down to kiss her brow.

"Happy birthday, Hotaru," she whispered, winking.

Setsuna would come later, in the evening, so as to keep Hotaru from being overwhelmed. She was doing better, but Setsuna was of the belief that her recovering state was precisely why she needed to be extra careful.

Haruka and Michiru teleported away, and the exertion of magic was only a seven on the pain scale, instead of knocking her out. She really _was_ improving.

Hotaru changed, and hurried downstairs. She was a little late, however. In the kitchen, Granny was cooking already.

"Noodles for dinner," she let Hotaru know as she ladled the soup into bowls. Hotaru began to take them to set the table when a green-sleeved hand took the bowls first.

"Birthday girl gets to be served," Kawahira said, stifling a yawn. "Go take a seat, Hotaru-kun. No chores for you today."

Hotaru tried to help, only to be shooed away.

"Are we getting ramen for dinner?" Kawahira asked Granny hopefully, as he kept Hotaru from doing anything. He did so by pushing his hand against her forehead, as if they were in a cartoon and he was picking on her using his superior height and arm length. Hotaru gave up on trying further if only to spare her own dignity.

"Soba, Riku. No ramen."

Kawahira pouted. "Aww, Granny."

Granny pulled her face into a very stern expression. " _No_ , Riku."

Hotaru had to stifle a giggle at the usual banter. Some things, at least, never changed.

After breakfast, Kawahira pulled Hotaru away so they could speak without being overheard by Granny.

"Would you mind passing along a message to the Guardian of Time and Space?" he asked, after a wave of his ringed hand to make sure no sound of their conversation would make it to Granny's surprisingly sharp ears.

It was the first time he had requested she pass along a message to the others. He would have named Mamoru if he finally intended to speak to the prince, but still, Hotaru tensed. "What should I say?"

Kawahira smirked. "Tell her that she doesn't need to work on what she's focused on right now. Your birthday present will cover it quite nicely."

Hotaru had to run what he had said through her head a little to figure it out. That . . . . was a lot less important than she had expected. "Thank you?"

She wasn't even sure _what_ Setsuna was working on, but what Kawahira said made it obvious it wasn't something related to fashion.

"You're welcome, Hotaru-kun." He swept a hand carelessly through her hair and began to leave. "Happy birthday."

He was being vague again, but she just decided to chalk it up to a 'birthday surprise', and Kawahira being Kawahira. "Thank you!"

Kawahira waved without turning back and left the house.

That left Hotaru the rest of the day, till dinner, to spend with Takeshi and Haru.

"Happy birthday!" Haru cried out, engulfing her with a hug.

"Happy birthday!" echoed Takeshi, joining in on the hug.

"You guys . . ." Hotaru trailed off. Time had moved for them, and she had been witness to it, as Takeshi and Haru had grown. Had it really been years since she met them? Looking at it in retrospect, it felt so much shorter, like the span of a few months.

And yet their heights, as tall as she was – taller, in Takeshi's case, and around the same with Haru – were physical proof that it had, in fact, been that many years.

No one in Namimori ever noticed that there was something different about her, how she never seemed to age, and that spell had applied even to Takeshi and Haru. Kawahira had always made it so that her friends never really questioned why she didn't celebrate her birthday with them. He had asked, when she first became friends with Takeshi, if she wanted him to at least remember her birthday.

Hotaru had refused, and then asked that he – and later Haru – not realize they didn't celebrate her birthday. It had been done at her request, because she hadn't wanted to celebrate a birthday while her time was frozen. That day should have marked the passing of time, not been a grotesque parody of what she couldn't have yet. If she hadn't requested it, she knew they, being who they were, would have focused on throwing her a birthday party as well. The gesture would have been well-meant and kind in intention, but it was still something she didn't want. Not when her birthday meant less than nothing to her.

But this year, this time, it was different, and she had wanted to celebrate it. In the end, she would always choose Usagi, always choose life as a sailor soldier. It was who she was, at her very core and soul. No matter how much warmth they gave her, Hotaru could not choose her friends over her duty.

The loophole, however, was that she didn't need to make the choice now, not while she had no access to Sailor Saturn's powers. Until the moment came to her, Hotaru decided, taking the coward's choice. She would enjoy these peaceful days, make memories with them.

As if there was a karmic joke involved, the very moment after she made that decision, the change came upon her, as sudden as a sneeze. One minute she had been fine, and the next –

"Are you okay?" Haru asked when Hotaru choked. Hotaru knew what it was like, to become a prisoner of her own body, to escape her soul from the hostile environment her own flesh and blood had become. She knew what it was like, being struck with an attack so powerful it literally disintegrated her into nothing except the essence of her star seed.

This was different.

Saturn stirred within her, finally awake after years of lying dormant, and Hotaru was overflown with the force surging from her soul. She struggled to adapt to the sudden feeling, but it was like being forced to run a marathon after years of being immobile – difficult, painful, and nearly impossible.

She hung on by a hair, pressed down the urge to let the power of Saturn overflow and transform, but that rebound ended up hurting her.

Unable to exert outwards, the force instead headed inwards, and it was only because she was the princess of Saturn that she didn't die instantly. As it was, she felt several of her organs become damaged from the invisible impact of a magical backlash of that scale.

Takeshi began to reach out to pat her on the back, thinking she had swallowed wrong, when Hotaru coughed out red that spilled down her chin and on the front of her dress.

Haru screamed and Takeshi paled, both knowing enough to understand that what she had just spat out was blood, roughly enough to fill a cup, and this was by no means something that signified anything good for their friend.

She tried to reassure them, but she couldn't even keep herself on her own feet, let alone speak properly. Balance lost and center of gravity tilted, Hotaru's body swayed and began to fall to the ground.

* * *

AN: Yay, Hotaru gets her powers back! And in 12 chapters, that's so much faster than what I had originally planned!

Huinari: This is a fluffy, light-hearted story where Hotaru gets to make friends around her own age while getting more focus because she's my favorite character and she had too little screen time canonically.

Also Huinari: *takes away Hotaru's powers, forces her to have to stay away from her family / fellow sailors, freezes her time, gives back her powers but also makes her vomit blood on her own birthday, the first she's celebrating in years.*

Readers: [insert reply in comments]

Sweet Dreams~


	13. Saturn

"How come you don't go to school?" Haru asked Hotaru one day, as she and Takeshi worked through their summer homework. It wasn't hard or anything, just journals on things they saw and did, but it was tedious.

Hotaru paused on her own 'homework'. Haru had been jealous when she learned that Hotaru got to choose her own homework, making up her own lessons, but after looking at just what the older girl did for her self-assigned work, had decided Hotaru liked torturing herself. The books she read were incredibly boring, and with the tiniest letters ever.

"I have health problems," Hotaru said.

"Oh." Haru usually would have dropped it there, but something that day – maybe the heat of the summer, maybe the boredom that made Haru drag her feet at the idea of returning her focus to the homework waiting for her – prodded her to ask some more. "Does it hurt?"

Hotaru didn't immediately answer, and Haru's imagination jumped to action. Like a cursed princess, Hotaru couldn't really go to school, and be known only to a few until her prince came for her! It was a problem only true love's kiss could fix, and –

"Sometimes," Hotaru said at last, cutting off Haru's thoughts before she could think about a dragon. Maybe this dragon could be a nice one instead of a mean one, like Granny, because while Granny was as scary as a dragon she wasn't evil or like a witch. More like a fairy godmother.

Wait, Hotaru had answered.

"Hahi?"

Hotaru smiled like she knew what Haru was thinking. "It's painful, sometimes."

Takeshi dropped his pencil.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" he asked urgently, no smile on his face.

She shook her head. "I'm okay. I'm getting better," she added when he looked ready to protest. "Really. I'm not in pain now."

At the time Haru had thought she was like a princess, and that had been about the extent of her worries. Hotaru was pale and didn't – couldn't – run around or be as active as Takeshi or Haru, but she looked and acted normal.

Haru didn't realize just _what_ that had meant, until Hotaru coughed up blood on her twelfth birthday and began to fall to the ground.

And no, she didn't want her friend to be a princess, not if it meant something like this.

Before Hotaru could collapse to the ground, a thin man grabbed her. "Easy, easy."

"We need to get her to the hospital!" Haru cried out, the only thought she could form as her head went white.

Takeshi narrowed his eyes. He hadn't noticed this person around before – and he wasn't someone who stood out, but he did wear a kimono while everyone else was wearing western-styled clothes. Takeshi wouldn't have missed him coming close enough to them to catch Hotaru before she fell.

It was almost like he had appeared out of thin air.

"No, it's fine," said the man, adjusting his grip on Hotaru's body so she was held a little more carefully. She didn't look fine, not to Haru or to Takeshi. She still had blood streaked below her mouth, and the red was all-too-clear for them to see on her shirt.

And she was breathing hard, like she had run as fast as she could even though she had done no such thing.

"She's not!" Haru shouted, because clearly this man couldn't understand the gravity of the situation.

"She is," the man insisted. "She just forgot to take her medicine and had a bad attack. As soon as she gets some rest, she'll be fine."

Hotaru weakly nodded in his arms. She didn't push him away, and Haru hesitated. If Hotaru could see herself, maybe she might agree with them more. There was a chance her friend didn't understand just how sick she looked right now.

He began to walk towards the realtor's place Hotaru lived, and the two of them had no choice but to follow.

"Are you sure?" Takeshi asked. Smart as Hotaru was, she wasn't a doctor. "It looks like she's – it looks really serious. Are you a doctor?"

He asked that question with a bit of hope.

"I'm not a doctor," said the man, dashing their hopes. He didn't _look_ like a doctor either, dressed in a green kimono. Most of the doctors Haru had seen wore white coats and dressed neatly beneath them. This man definitely didn't look the part of one. The only thing that might have made him like a doctor was his glasses – but he didn't look particularly smart with them, just tired and suspicious. "But I do know enough about her condition to say that it's not as bad as it looks."

"That's really suspicious," Takeshi said bluntly. Haru nodded, taking a deep breath so she could scream at any given time. The only reason they weren't screaming and accusing him of kidnapping was because Hotaru was still conscious, and she wasn't struggling to get away from him. That could be changed any second.

And she could scream _really_ loudly. She had won a screaming contest at school last year. They all got in trouble with the teacher, but it had been _so_ worth it. Haru would scream with the force of the screaming champion of grade five if she had to, she wasn't afraid of using her power.

"That it does," agreed the man, not even arguing with them. What a weird man. "Here we are."

At Kawahira Realtor's, the man used a key he removed from his pocket to open the doors. Granny wasn't here, but he entered anyways and set Hotaru down on one of the sofas.

"Thank you," she rasped. She sounded like she had a really bad cold, with the worst sore throat in the world.

Takeshi and Haru made a beeline to her side, stepping past the man with the glasses.

"I don't think you should be speaking," Takeshi suggested.

"Where does it hurt?" Haru asked at the same time. Takeshi gave both of them a hard look, and Haru added onto what she had said. "He's right, don't speak!"

After she said that, though, Haru realized how contrary her words were.

Hotaru, though, came up with a way, and tapped at her head, her throat, her chest, her stomach . . . .

Haru's throat had a lump in it. At least, it felt like it did.

"She'll be fine," the bespectacled man said dismissively, and Haru lashed out.

"How can you say that?!" she shrieked, never mind that he was a stranger. How _dare_ he treat Hotaru's pain like it was nothing? She'd give this weird man a piece of her mind-

Hotaru tugged at her hand, and when Haru turned her head she gave a weak smile, trying to reassure her.

It only fanned at her anger, unfortunately.

Takeshi, though, put a hand on her shoulder, and while she was distracted took the reins. "Is there a reason we can't go to the hospital?"

The man had the gall to look _bored_. "Other than it being a waste of time? No."

There was almost nothing about him that reassured them, except Hotaru, and even their friend's implicit trust of him didn't ease their worries, especially when her eyes slid shut, and she didn't respond to Takeshi calling her name or Haru nudging her arm.

Haru and Takeshi tried to stick around, but the man shooed them out.

"She needs rest," he said. "When she gets better, she'll let you know. Now **_go home_**."

* * *

Her body felt like it was boiling. Well, had. Now it was more of a simmer. The presence of Saturn, awakened within her, was the return of something that had been inactive for too long moving once more. She knew the sensation and it was familiar, but at the same time there _had_ been years of inactivity.

The best way to describe the feeling would be to call it 'dusty', or 'stiff'. Like a machine creaking back into movement after years of stillness, even though her joints were no longer cybernetic.

Hotaru opened her eyes when she stopped feeling like there was a supernova going off in her brain. Takeshi and Haru were no longer there, but the guardian of Terra watching over her was.

"Would you like some medicine?" Kawahira offered, brandishing a bottle of cough syrup knowing fully well that it would help her with exactly nothing. "It tastes like strawberries."

She shook her head. Already the accelerated healing that came with Saturn's powers was kicking in, and any internal injuries that had been inflicted by Saturn's return – to be more accurate, her suppressing of Saturn's return – had already been fixed.

Hotaru felt full. Content. Like she could fly, if she wanted to now. And she could, really, so she wasn't just imagining it, because filling her veins, her soul, was the power that Saturn wielded.

 _Stars and space, vast emptiness that was like the abyss but promising in potential, the countless specks of bright lights that were the lives on this planet, the fates and destinies that could be woven._

 ** _Deaths_** _. The old which made way for the new – **destruction** for the sake of **hope** , and **rebirth**. Necessary tragedies, ends that were given meaning, a part of nature, the inevitable end which came with the circle of life. _

_A cycle like the **phoenix** , rising anew from its own ashes in the splendor of the sun. _

She blinked several times in rapid succession to clear her sight and shoved away the influx of information. The last thing she needed was to drive herself insane with the sudden cognition of her soul's nature.

"What-" her voice was raspy and hoarse, like metal scraping on metal. Hotaru cleared her throat, and the next words came out sounding closer to an actual human voice. "What did you do to make them go?"

Because if words alone would have managed to make Haru back down, then Kawahira deserved to be the advocate of the Devil himself. And Takeshi might have seemed easy-going, but he had a stubborn streak as wide as a baseball field in him, too.

"How anyone with talent and half a cup of wits would explain away damage caused by the reconnection of a powerful being's source and soul," he said and shrugged, unrepentant. "I scrambled their senses."

Those were not reassuring words to her own senses.

"What," Hotaru said flatly, hoping that she had misheard.

"With illusions and a bit of hypnosis," he added, because the _method_ had obviously been what was bothering her. "Nothing permanent, just enough to convince them that the best method of helping you was to return to their homes, instead of staying around a newly-awakened Soldier of Silence."

Hotaru cringed. She hadn't even considered whether she might have negative effects on them or not.

"Probably none," Kawahira answered when she asked about possible adverse effects. "I just didn't want to bother explaining or coming up with a flimsy excuse on the spot. You _were_ coughing up blood, and even non-medical professionals know that's hardly a good sign."

She . . . well, she wouldn't have been able to explain it very well herself, but still.

"What were you thinking?" Kawahira asked, drumming his fingers together. On another person, the action might have made them look like they were plotting something, but on Kawahira he just looked like he was fidgeting for the sake of fidgeting. "I could have erased their memories, you know."

"I forgot, at the time," Hotaru said. And in retrospect, she wasn't sure she liked the idea of tampering with their memories even further. "I thought I could just – hold it back."

She just hadn't expected the backlash to be so severe. Her magic had healed it almost immediately, but it had still made Haru and Takeshi worry, and even Kawahira, as evident in how he had actually stuck around until her respirations had become regular once more.

"Get some rest," Kawahira said, voice like a sigh of exasperation with how soft and whispery it was. "I'll contact your parents."

As if his words had been a spell, her eyelids grew heavier, and she couldn't hold them up any further.

He ruffled her hair like he always did, an action and no words, but this time it felt like a goodbye. Her consciousness faded away before she could try to grab him or anything, which was something she wouldn't put past him causing.

When Hotaru woke up at last, she was surrounded by her parents, just as Kawahira had implied.

There were a lot of things she felt in that moment, but whatever complicated mess her emotions had become, she pushed them all back to make way for joy, first and foremost. The least of which she owed to three of the strongest women she knew was a smiling face.

"Hi," she whispered, and opened her arms.

All three of them came forwards, ignoring the elbows flying and digging into each other's ribs, to envelope her in a group hug for the first time in years.

That was probably one of the best birthday gifts she had ever received.

* * *

Naturally, the other sailor soldiers tried to rush over. Key word being 'tried'.

"It's not our house," reminded Setsuna, and as accommodating as Granny had been, Hotaru also didn't want to end up mobbing the old woman with the entire solar system guardians in her own house.

After letting Granny know that she would be out, Hotaru transformed for the first time in years. The essence of Saturn, unbound and unfrozen at last, washed over her, and from the purple light that had enveloped her she emerged as a soldier and an incarnation of a planet.

On her brow, covering where her mark of Saturn would be, rested the tiara that served to protect her head as a helm would. The Silence Glaive, heavy with responsibility and power, rested in her hand, a familiar weight. It would not swing down today, and there were no enemies in sight, but it was there, a part of her as much as the sailor armor and the tiara on her brows were.

Pluto extended a hand to her, and she took it. Neptune took her other hand, and Uranus connected the others.

Together, bound in a ring of clutched hands, they teleported to Tokyo.

Before she could even release their hands, Saturn was tackled by Usagi in a flying hug.

"Saturn!" her princess shouted, exuberant to the point where it nearly broke Saturn's heart. "You're back! You're okay now!"

Following the princess, the hug grew larger when the inner soldiers joined in as well.

"It's been too long," Ami mumbled, the closest to her.

"Have you been eating?" Makoto asked, trying to look over her to the best of her abilities. She might have had more luck if Saturn wasn't covered up in so many arms, Makoto's own included.

Rei exhaled softly. "This is a relief," she said.

Minako was the first to let her go, though it was for her sake more than anything. "Guys, I think we smothered her."

Saturn was actually _not_ smothered. It took more than that to take out a sailor guardian, after all. She was just a little overwhelmed, and in the good way.

Hotaru released the transformation, just as Mamoru entered the apartment.

"Hotaru-chan," he greeted, smile wide and welcoming. His smile slipped, as he turned serious. "Did someone already give you a checkup?"

"I was just about to do that," Ami said, computer on her hand. "She was fine last time, and given that she can transform now with no pain she should be fully recovered, but . . ."

 _Doctors_ , Hotaru thought fondly as Ami ran scans over her body, visor extended over her eyes.

"We've got so much to catch up on," Minako said. "Usagi and Mamoru's wedding, first and foremost."

The wedding! The very wedding that had been put on hold indefinitely so all of the sailor soldiers could attend – the one that hadn't happened yet despite being a sure thing because of her condition.

It was finally happening. Her princess was going to marry the prince.

Usagi clapped her hands in glee. "I was hoping you'd be the flower girl and ring bearer, Hotaru-chan."

The honor of being both came to Hotaru so she could stand in for Chibi-Usa. Usagi's friend Naru was maid-of-honour, because it wasn't fair to any of the sailor soldiers if one of them happened to be maid of honor.

"Also because I have like two groomsmen," added Mamoru. He looked a little wistful as he listed the two names. "Ittou and Motoki."

"I lent you Gurio," reminded Usagi, tucking herself into his side. "And Shingo."

"Gurio didn't appreciate being lent by you to me," retorted Mamoru, fondness making his blue eyes twinkle. "And Shingo might still try to stab me in the back for making his sister's marriage be set back so late."

"Sorry," mumbled Hotaru, immensely guilty at the reminder that they would have been married a lot sooner had it not been for her.

Usagi smacked Mamoru and frantically shook her head, inadvertently hair-whipping both Rei and Mamoru, the two with the misfortune of being closest to her at the time.

"It's not your fault!" she shouted. "It's not like being married or not would ever change just how much I love Mamo-chan, that's just formalities!"

"It also gave me time to practice my cake-decorating skills," Makoto threw in her own two cents. The owner of a cake shop doing very well in Tokyo smiled proudly. "They're going to have the prettiest wedding cake ever."

"And it gave me time to actually make the dress myself," Setsuna spoke, too. "Not just Usagi's dress, but all of ours."

"I'm sorry for giving you the wrong idea," Mamoru apologized, gently prying his lover's fingers from his shoulder one by one. Given that she was squeezing him like the end of the world was upon them, it took him a considerable effort.

Hotaru smiled and agreed that there would be nothing to forgive, as Minako launched into the logistics of how the bridesmaids and groomsmen pair-up would work.

.

After the presents – everyone had really gone all-out, as if this was the last chance they had to spend money – Hotaru tapped Setsuna on her wrist.

"Uncle says to tell you that his birthday gift to me makes up for whatever you're working on right now," she informed her quietly, while Mamoru was busy murmuring something into Usagi's ear. The whole day had been a bit busy, and it was only now, after receiving all the birthday gifts, that she remembered what felt like a week ago.

Setsuna started, before she sighed in exasperation. "Honestly," she muttered. "What a show-off."

She stood from her seat. Michiru noticed, and raised a chopstick to tap against her glass. The sound, like a crystal bell, rang through the room, grabbing everyone's attention and ceasing ongoing conversations.

"Thank you, Michiru." Setsuna cleared her throat. "I was going to announce this later, but some recent developments have made me think it might be more prudent to share it now."

Hotaru glanced around the table, and while the inners looked like they didn't have a clue of what Setsuna might say, Michiru and Haruka were grinning in anticipation.

Nonetheless, everyone leaned in, excited to hear what she had to say.

"I've been offered a job as a professor of physics at Yosen University," Setsuna announced.

Ami clapped her hands over her mouth as Usagi shrieked in joy.

"Oh my gosh!" exclaimed Minako. "Setsuna, that's awesome!"

"The Dean of Physics there is an old friend of my mentor's, and recently one of the faculty retired, so he put in a good word and, well." Setsuna smiled, abashed. "I think a part of it has to do with how they're trying to even out gender imbalances-"

"No way," interrupted Haruka. "We talked about this, Sets, there's no one better for the job, it has everything to do with your skills."

"And even so, you'll show just how powerful and amazing women can be in the sciences," added Michiru.

"Given that I still have plans on going into fashion design later on in my life, I doubt I'll be a good role model," Setsuna said dryly.

"Nah," Haruka said, grinning. "You'll do both like the boss lady you are." She spoke with full confidence, as if there was no other option. It was the verdict of the heavenly king.

"Totally," agreed Makoto, the guardian of the other planet with the claim to the same title. "Oh, I wish you told me earlier, I'd have made a cake – well, another cake."

Hotaru glanced at the cake, the remains of what had been a beautifully decorated two-tiered cake. Even after everyone had gotten at least one generously-sized slice – and more than half of them had gone for seconds because Makoto's baking was unrivalled – there was still plenty left.

Still, priorities.

"Yosen's been rising in rankings these past years," Ami said approvingly.

"I'm sure they'll appreciate an intelligent professor to help further boost themselves," Rei complimented.

"Congratulations," Mamoru said genuinely when he could get a word in.

Hotaru nodded quickly, trying to hide her distractedness. Yosen. Where had she heard that name before? It sounded vaguely familiar.

Haruka cleared her throat. "But," she began theatrically. "Isn't Yosen all the way over in Akita?"

Akita. Where Namimori was.

Yosen University was where Haru's father taught as a math professor, Hotaru recalled at last. It was close to Namimori.

Hotaru stared at Setsuna, not daring to even _think_ because they couldn't possibly-

"Oh, that'll be quite the commute from Juban," Michiru took the baton and ran with it with all the dramatics she was capable of. "I guess Setsuna will be moving. Do you happen to know a place where you'd be interested in living?"

No way.

Setsuna smiled, lips curling up slowly. "As a matter of fact, I have a town in mind," she said playfully. She may have been 'answering' Michiru's question, but her garnet gaze was fixed on Hotaru. "It's a quiet but interesting town, from what I've been told by someone living there for a few years. Nice people, too."

Hotaru found her voice. "But what about-" at a loss for words, she vaguely gestured to everyone else. Usagi, Mamoru, the inners –

Who all happened to be smiling knowingly, and _wait a minute_.

"Hotaru-chan," Usagi said, gentle and proud. "Your friends are there. We wouldn't want you to have to move again."

"But I'm a sailor soldier," Hotaru protested. She had a duty, they all did. Sailor Saturn could finally fight alongside her sisters, now that destiny had been changed. She couldn't choose anything else over that.

"You're also Tomoe Hotaru," pointed out Rei.

"Hotaru, we can still live our lives while we do our duty. We don't have to be what we were," Setsuna said gently while Hotaru tried to come up with a way to explain why being Tomoe Hotaru was not reason enough to not do her duty as Sailor Saturn. "You told us that."

By 'that', she had meant they, as sailor soldiers, could be moved from their posts. Pluto would no longer have to be at the gates, Uranus and Neptune did not have to stand guard on their planets, and she would not have to be asleep indefinitely. She hadn't meant for civilian life to take priority over guarding the princess.

"But," she wavered in her protest, because a part of her was immensely happy at what she was offered. A life, an actual normal life where she could just be Tomoe Hotaru, without Sailor Saturn always looming behind her.

It terrified her, too.

Haruka reached over to rumple her hair. "It's not like we're retiring or anything," she said. "We'll just be balancing it out. Enjoying the normal, living our lives."

"None of us gave up our dreams," Michiru chimed in. "And none of us will. It's just that we have two dreams. What we want, as civilians, and what we want as sailor soldiers."

Giving both sides of their identities equal worth. Whereas Hotaru, all this time, had subconsciously been tipping the scales in favor of Sailor Saturn.

She understood, logically, what they were saying. Emotionally, she craved that balance too.

And yet, still, a part of her – the same part that knew what it was like to bring down the Silence Glaive wordlessly, with the intent to reset life – was scared, worried. Dared not hope.

Usagi slipped out of her seat and came to hug Hotaru. "We all noticed you were worried," she soothed. "But whenever we tried to reassure you, you didn't really listen."

Had she really not listened? They always reassured her that it was okay, that she could take her time, that there was no need to feel frustrated and Hotaru had always appreciated their willingness to wait for her.

Maybe she hadn't thought about what else the sailor soldiers had been trying to tell her. That it wasn't just Sailor Saturn they were waiting to return to them.

"Probably because you didn't have your powers, and couldn't let yourself relax," Minako added. "So we waited until you actually could make the choice before springing this on you."

Because sometimes, having a choice made all the difference. Hotaru exhaled. Granny had been right. Before, without her powers, she had been too focused on herself being useless to the protection of the solar system and the princess.

Now that she had it, now that she was reassured that she wouldn't be helpless in the face of a crisis, Hotaru could think with a little more leisure. Think about her future as Tomoe Hotaru as well as Sailor Saturn, rather than just the latter like she had been focusing on.

"Namimori's really far from Tokyo, though," she protested, even as most of her mind was caught up in a whirlwind of things she hadn't dared to considered before. It wasn't like everyone would move to the small town.

"And we can teleport," said Usagi.

The way she said it, like it was so obvious and easy, stunned Hotaru, like someone had hit the back of her head with a frying pan.

Then, she broke out into giggles. Of course distance wasn't an issue. How could she have forgotten how insignificant that was?

Suddenly, all the worries that had been plaguing her for months seemed insignificant. And how could it not be, when the strongest women in the solar system – when the strongest woman in the entire _universe_ – said it was so?

* * *

AN: AN: I have promised Ze Happy and I have delivered! Put your pitchforks down, please.

Next is an interlude of sorts, where we have a lot of different POVs from different timelines, both present and past. It's a very long chapter but I swear it's all important information.

Sweet Dreams~


	14. Interlude I

Mercury was the planet of water and wisdom, and though their powers were that of ice they were passionate in learning, and in teaching. Venus loved, and put great value in the beautiful, but at the heart of their home planet they had a core of steel, for it was their love that gave them their strength. Mars was fire, and they knew passion and war, though the latter they carried out swiftly and only when needed, for they knew how terrible it could be and considered the only 'good' war to be one that wasn't made real. Jupiter, the largest of the moon kingdom's inner court, was the planet of storms and forests, the one who protected like a shield and fought with a furious vengeance, demonstrating to the universe what the best defense being a powerful offense was.

Saturn and its residents knew the value of silence and the necessity of the end for rebirth and hope, and they prayed for their sleeping princess, that she may have sweet dreams so she would not mourn when she woke at last. Uranus was the king of the heavens, the planet of the wind and flight, a full-out offense with no mercy or holding back to invaders. Neptune, the planet of the deep seas and embrace, offered any with ill intent entering its domain one last chance to repent and put down their arms. Pluto, small and last but by no means the least, carried a manifestation of the Doors of Time and Space, and watched the solar system all from afar.

All of them – including the scant population on the moon – combined had less lives than the people that lived on Earth, even before the time called the Silver Millennium came to an abrupt, sudden end. Even after Saturn reaped the life of an entire civilization, life on Earth survived, and flourished once more in time.

Without a known sailor soldier, the denizens of the Silver Millennium, and perhaps Earth itself, had forgotten to ask the very important question of –

What was Earth, Terra, the planet of?

* * *

Before the sailor soldiers became the protectors of the stars, there lived the old gods. Chronos, of time and space, left the physical world to sleep in spirit, leaving his daughter, his blood thick in her veins, as the guardian of the doors he had once watched over. The old being of the sun split his heart and left half of his power with the silver queen that had come from the wellspring of stars where Chaos and Cosmos mixed and would rise, so that one day their daughter could inherit their combined legacy.

And the goddess of death gave birth to a baby, a child of stars with the fate to bring the end. She left with the babe her own blade, the scythe that could channel the terrible power her daughter was born with, and let the child be sealed away in slumber. Death only came once, after all, and it was a power too great to be let loose on the world.

The princess of a planet whose powers were that of silence and ruin woke in her castle just once, at the end of a millennium forged by a silver crystal and magic of the gods.

Saturn saw no need to speak. There were no words that could ever convey the full weight of what needed to be said.

Saturn saw no need for understanding, not from the three guardians of the outer rims. This was a burden only she needed to bear. It was what she had been born for, what she had waited for in her enchanted slumber until this moment.

Saturn saw the end that would come, one filled with pain and devastation and horror, and wordlessly she let the glaive drop upon the silver age of magic to bring a quicker end.

* * *

To see the future meant to walk in a time not yet her own, to know information that had not yet become true.

Sephira, before she changed her name and donned the white robes of a priestess, had considered many things. Wisdom came with her ability to see the future, it was true, but so too did the responsibilities that would come with her choice. It was one thing to choose and hope for the best. It was another thing entirely, to choose knowing what was most likely to come.

So she chose to lay down the name she had been born with, lay down her slim chances, lay down her ambitions. She donned the white, severed ties with her family of birth and entered Elysion, to become one of the keepers of the temple.

Sephira grew into her own, out of her own choice, and she was happy.

She 'was' happy, until darkness overtook her world. Elysion was safe, the wards were holding up, but outside –

The darkness gnawed away at the world, and malice of humanity's dark desires mixed with chaos of a deep, ancient evil that made her shudder.

It was a scene out of the most hellish of nightmares, and it seemed there was no hope.

"Tell them to move into the center room," she said, suppressing the conflict in her heart. Outside raged a dark storm, born of not just evil magic but also the shadows within the human heart, that which was inevitable chaos. The sight that had haunted her nightmares for years, the sight that had made her lay down her previous life to become a priestess had come at last.

Unlike her other visions, which had at least one other outcome, he had never seen an alternate future to this one. All the roads of fate had always led to the end of the world.

Despite Sephira's inner fear, the words that slipped out of her lips were that of optimism. "We can hold the wards there together."

Peleus moved to do just that, and Sephira was grateful that it was him that had been there, and not Cadmus. The former warrior would have argued that they leave the temple to fight against those possessed by the darkness, regardless of how badly that would end.

Sephira couldn't have him raise his voice for them to risk everything for the sake of the microscopically small possibility of saving the royal family – or what remained of the Golden Kingdom's ruling clan. Prince Endymion, on the kingdom of silver in the heavens, was the only one left outside. The king and queen had been murdered first, and their son whisked away by his lover in the heavens.

There would be no going to him, no reaching him now. As the denizens of heavens began mounting their defense against the possessed mortals that had never been a part of their world, he was caught up in a tangled mess of love and broken divine laws and a terrible, terrible war.

If Cadmus demanded they go to try and rescue him, despite the impossible odds, Sephira wasn't sure if she could stay strong.

Acheron looked at her, wide-eyed. Even at the young age of twelve, he knew better than anyone the attachment familial bonds brought, having watched the families of the dead scream in helpless frustration and loss as they mourned those that had passed. He knew who she thought of, who she worried for.

Sephira tried to smile, and wasn't sure if she had succeeded. Shame on her – she needed to smile, to lessen the worries of those around her. _That_ was the responsibility of those with the Sight, not spreading fear like a fraudulent fortune teller seeking to make some coin by stirring up paranoia.

She told herself that, but she didn't think she could last very long. The words that had sustained her for so long felt meaningless.

"Let's have faith in the gods," she suggested, even though she herself had very little of that right now.

He still looked reluctant, but he went along with her, bless his usually-contrary soul. The graveness of the situation was truly great, for him to actually listen without snarking.

"I'll go stand with Helios," he offered, trembling in fear.

"Yes," Sephira agreed, relieved that he wouldn't be there if ( _when)_ she finally broke, and ruffled his hair. "He'll need your help."

Acheron nodded jerkily and ran to the inner heart of the temple. Alone, Sephira looked outside. Elysion was holy land, but even its purifying aura couldn't hide what went on outside. Not from her Sight, grown powerful for her choice to seal herself within this temple.

Her eyelids fluttered as she, for the first time since her childhood days, threw herself into her Sight and let herself be drowned by images of the futures that could come. Darkness. Evil. Loss. Magic. Betrayal. Possession.

All the futures she saw were grim, and with each one she saw she lost more hope. They all ended in death, total, complete death. Like a forest fire that razed everything to the ground, left empty fields where once there had been trees of old, none would survive.

Not even the fourteen of them in this holy temple.

Sephira's breath caught at that realization. Was this how her life ended? Twenty-three years of choosing the lesser of evil choices, twenty-three years of suppressing anything she wanted for the good of the future, of the people, of her family, twenty-three years of bearing the weight of a 'gift' she had never asked for, and she died trembling in fear of what would come, her so-called blessing giving her nothing but the horrifying knowledge of how she would die?

One of the other priests – Orbona, bless her kind heart – tugged her into the heart of the temple, knowing that while she was in a daze from her visions she could be distracted from the present. The others were there, the thirteen people that had become her family after she turned ten and entered the temple with the intent to never rejoin the rest of the world.

Cybele looked resigned as she wrapped her arms around the two youngest, Acheron and Helios, only boys at the end of the day despite the powerful names and the heavy titles they had been given. The former warriors that had laid down their arms to serve Elysion, protect in a different way, bristled with frustration in the face of an enemy they were unable to fight. A few had their faces buried in their hands, softly weeping. They might not have had the Sight like she did, but they were all priests of Elysion, they could feel the flow of events going on, could intuitively know the approaching end. Acheron and Helios, too young but too wise, peered at her with wide eyes around Cybele's robed arms.

The end was nigh and all Sephira could do was continue to be aware of what led to their deaths as they continued to hold the wards and prolong the time to their inevitable deaths, morbidly unable to tear her Sight away.

Endymion died. The princess of the moon died. Terra screamed, as did the other planets in the heavens. The queen of the silver kingdom in the heavens made a decision. Darkness surged to strike, but it was too late, the call was made, and Death woke in the shape of a young girl, barely older than Acheron and Helios.

Sephira saw everything happen, about to happen, past and present and future meaning little to her awareness in that moment, saw Death raise the blade of her glaive. With the fall of that blade would fall all life, even here.

Just like that.

And she –

Was –

 _Done_.

Done with always choosing the path that brought the least negative consequences, done with submissive decisions and compromising, done with living in the future and therefore never fully in the present moment, done with killing her desires and ambitions, just done.

"No," she snarled. She refused to die, refused to watch the family she had chosen die before her eyes, refused to stand by passively and watch the flow of destiny come.

Defiant like she never had been, Sephira bared her teeth at the heavens. Death was absolute, death would always come – but the very definition of life, of living, was to look at the inevitable force and say, 'not today'.

She stopped peering into the future. She focused, instead, on the present, on the moment she was in _right now_.

"Not today!" she roared. Proper ladies did not roar, did not scream out their desire loaded with all the resolve they had within themselves at the skies. Proper ladies accepted what they were told and gracefully took the decisions of others.

Sephira had chosen to be a priestess, to not be a proper lady. Sephira had chosen her name, to cut ties with the family that she had been born to, and to leave behind the frustratingly complicated love and hate and unsolvable tangle that had been her relationship with them.

Sephira chose now, to defy as she had always wanted. Defy like she _needed_ to, now.

"I refuse!"

Within her awoke a flame of life, and her entire body became engulfed with orange fire.

* * *

Tomoe Hotaru suffered. Of that there was no question.

Saturn slept within her new vessel, as she always had. Detached from her reincarnation's life, Saturn observed and felt little. There was no need for attachment. When she was awakened again, she would once more end this world so that rebirth could take place. There was no point on becoming attached to what had to die so hope could start again. She was the one that wielded the Silence Glaive, the blade of the goddess of death, the Messiah of Silence.

But Tomoe Hotaru was only human, and she was lonely.

The Small Lady was, like her mother, a soul born with the fate to change the path of destiny.

The princess from a future that was now a branch from this timeline reached out to the soldier her mother had not been able to save. Tomoe Hotaru, met with a warm trust she had not felt in her existence, reached back for the affection she had been deprived of for so long, during her time of darkness.

Inside, Saturn resisted, but just barely. The heavenly bodies orbited the sun, after all, and the princess was the sun of the sailor soldiers – even Saturn.

When the Small Lady fell, soul robbed by an invader that had hijacked Saturn's own vessel, Saturn raged coldly, and bided her time as she continued to call, warning them that she would bring the end. The time for a revelation was coming. It had nothing – _everything_ – to do with how the princess had fallen, how her future queen had cried out in anguish.

Tomoe Hotaru, robbed of her body by a foul invader, sank as a soul to the depths of herself, and surrounded by Saturn, still not yet awake, found the courage within herself to act in defiance for the first time in her life.

'Protect them,' Saturn ordered. It was less the order that moved Tomoe Hotaru, and more the fierce desire to keep her first friend safe, but the end result was what both had wanted – the Silver Crystal, the souls of the sailor soldiers, out of the reach of Mistress 9 and that abominable invader.

And when Tomoe Hotaru's soul was about to dissolve into nothing, Saturn took her in and held her close. When the Moon Chalice and the crystal was released within the massive parasite, Saturn finally awakened in this new age that had been born from the ashes of the one she had destroyed before.

Saturn, but also Tomoe Hotaru. Tomoe Hotaru had accepted the larger part of herself, and Saturn had accepted what she was being given, that which was a chance at true rebirth for herself and for her fellow soldiers.

Two princesses, born with the fate to change destiny. Two lives, in two different ages for the sailors, one that had ended in tragedy and one they would fight to ensure history would not repeat itself. Two different roles, for Saturn, two diverging paths.

Sailor Saturn was no longer the silent executioner. She was more. Soldier of Silence, goddess of destruction, daughter of death, and Tomoe Hotaru.

Love had changed her, as it had changed them all. The messiah that was her queen, the saviour that was her princess –

Tomoe Hotaru, Saturn's princess reborn, a girl matured by loneliness and pain and despair, was given salvation.

In this timeline, it was not just the inner guardians and Sailor Pluto that survived the clash against Pharaoh 90 and the Death Busters. They had all survived.

* * *

Mamoru stared at the concept map he had made, until the word was more black scribble on white paper to him. He knew them by heart now, but they stirred no memories from his past life to him.

Acheron. Sephira.

What Kawahira told Hotaru, she told them all, including Mamoru. She reassured Mamoru that Kawahira didn't mind, and while Mamoru was grateful that Hotaru wasn't forced to betray the guardian's trust for his sake, it also hurt him that Acheron seemed to trust Hotaru more than he trusted Mamoru.

And, despite all her efforts to help him, he still was unable to remember. The two names stirred nothing inside him.

He did remember some things. His favorite foods from the Golden Kingdom. His childhood lessons and mistakes. His time, and memories with the Shitennou.

His guardians did not recall the names, either, when he asked.

"But milord," Kunzite's spirit added when his face turned crestfallen. "The priests of Elysion were always a mystery, even to the royal family. They shed their original names and cut ties to the material world when they swore service, and rarely left the temple."

And just like that, another piece of a memory he hadn't even been aware of clicked into place.

"Orphans were often picked," he mumbled. "Because the job was for life, like marrying into the role. But not all of them could become actual priests." Those that weren't given the honor of becoming the chosen priests instead served to carry out the tasks of the temple. Message-bearing, cleaning, cooking, serving the priests, et cetera.

"Indeed."

He had never met Helios in his previous life. But he – and the other priests of Elysion – had always carried the same desire in their hearts. The safety and wellbeing of Elysion, of the Golden Kingdom.

Acheron had said that he would not show before him, not until he remembered. Mamoru rubbed at his face with a hand, tired and suffering from a migraine.

Kunzite and the others apologized for not being able to provide further assistance.

"Our memories are also incomplete," Nephrite admitted, and had he been of flesh and blood shame would have flooded his cheeks with color. "Beryl and Metallia did much to damage our souls when they controlled us."

"And I do not blame you for it," Mamoru said firmly when the others also hung their heads, grave in their perceived failures.

"You are too kind." Jadeite's lips twisted into a rueful, fond smile. There was a shadow of his old grin in there, the playful upturn of lips that his brother in another life used to don with a sparkle in his eyes.

Mamoru remembered the Shitennou, the more he focused and tried. But he could not remember Acheron, not even a mention of him. He did not blame the Shitennou, he had been honest.

He blamed himself.

That night he dreamed of a woman on fire. All he could see of her was her outline – any details about her was engulfed by the orange flames she was engulfed in as she screamed.

Strangely enough, Mamoru got the feeling that she wasn't burning, and that her scream wasn't that of pain from the flames.

Rather, she was screaming in rebellion – and the flames were hers, blazing in resistance. Against – what?

Mamoru woke up with tears running down his face. He couldn't remember her, couldn't remember why that had been important, couldn't even remember why he was crying.

"Did I know you, once?" he asked aloud, as Usagi stirred next to him.

No one answered. In his mind he heard her scream again, wordless voice raw and defiant, and a chill ran down his spine.

* * *

Kaiou Michiru, Tenoh Haruka and Meiou Setsuna had lives, outside of their identity as sailor soldiers. With no significant threats or invaders around that they knew of – and with Sailor Moon having freed and revived much of the universe's sailor scouts, their public relations were rather good – there should have been more time for them to focus on their civilian lives.

Should, being the key word.

With Hotaru severely vulnerable and at risk for anything, they, as the guardians of the outer solar system and concerned parents, took it upon themselves to keep the entire solar system safe. It was less about giving up their dream – which would have made Hotaru racked with guilt – and more about multi-tasking, and efficient usage of time.

Car racing? Haruka's talent for it came from her affinity to the wind and her reaction time, unparalleled to most. Both could be honed when she stood guard on Uranus, the wellspring of her own power.

Violin practice? Could be done while training attacks oriented on music. Sailor Neptune, on a planet made up of deep seas, played to her guardian star and let the magic resonate from within her very being as her hands danced to the notes of her songs.

Studying the physics of time and space? Pluto was very used to standing guard, alone, at the gates of time and space. She knew better than anyone what made up the fabric of reality. Learning the theory behind what was instinctual wasn't difficult.

Spending as much time as they could on their home planets, drawing up power and synchronizing their souls to their birthrights, the outer sailor soldiers protected the solar system with a desperate fervor, determined to not let anyone in. Their presence hurt Hotaru, and they were of the same solar system.

If a case like the Starlights came to be once more?

Best case scenario, Hotaru was going to be in severe pain. Worst case scenario, she would die.

And that was an unacceptable outcome to all of them.

They stood guard ferociously, determined to not let anything in to hurt their daughter if they couldn't be at her side to protect her.

It was Neptune who noticed it first.

"We're getting stronger," she said, after asking Uranus to spar with her. They worked best as partners, Neptune supporting and Uranus attacking, and they knew each other too well for a spar to be anything more than exercise.

And yet, both had been surprised to find their attacks stronger. Easier. More natural.

Not because of their revival after the Cauldron. Not because of Sailor Moon.

"Because we've been spending more time on our planets," Pluto realized.

Because they might have been reborn on Earth, as human beings, their current selves could not be denied, but their very essence, their souls, were those of other planets. Because they had been fighting with a handicap, so to speak.

The inner sailor scouts joined their patrols of the solar system. By placement of their home planets it was harder for them to be keeping an eye out for invaders from outside the solar system, but Jupiter and Mars were still between Earth and the outer layers, and Mercury and Venus could scout from their own castles provided they were synchronized to the surveillances of other planets, and they did what they could.

Filling the role of the outers wasn't the main goal. Getting stronger was. For Hotaru, for Sailor Moon, for the prince, for the unborn princess they all loved and adored, for themselves.

All of the sailor soldiers might have been faced with one of the greatest forces in the entire galaxy, but it didn't change the fact that they had been killed in a blink of an eye, and their souls controlled and turned against their princess.

Their princess, who had suffered because her sailor guardians had failed to protect her.

Usagi, of course, would have said that she didn't mind, that she was honored to fight with them at her side. But it wasn't that they didn't want to fight with her, but rather they would that she didn't have to. Lonely stars that they were, one day, when all of them faded away, only Sailor Moon would be left, shining eternally – and alone. They wanted to stay at her side for as long as they could.

Time passed for the sailor soldiers, as it did for everyone. They achieved their dreams. Ami became a doctor, general practitioner for now but willing to learn any specialty she wanted to. Minako was a famous model and actress, seizing the eyes and attention of the public like a commanding queen. Rei was a priestess at her temple, proud and knowledgeable as she read the flames and kept the peace of minds. Makoto began her own shop, selling her confections and flowers to brighten up the days of those that came in.

Setsuna got her doctorate in theoretical physics, and began working on fashion design. Michiru played the violin in halls filled with her fans, and her music drew in and drowned those who listened like a mythical siren from mythology. Haruka raced, almost as fast as she could fly, and she had no equal on the tracks.

But even as their dreams were achieved, even as they enjoyed the peace, the sailor soldiers didn't forget there was one of them, unable to be there.

* * *

From Sephira came a fire of defiance, a refusal to die. She was human, she was mortal, but she was alive – and to death she screamed no.

Ironically, as she faced death, knew death was coming, felt death about to extinguish her life, in that moment Sephira was alive. Ever since the Sight had become hers, had she ever truly lived in the present as she was now?

That was a revelation – _her_ revelation – so strong it transmitted through her will manifested to the very people she sought to protect. Her flames reached out, not consuming as actual flames tended to do but harmonizing, tugging the resigned priests to stand as one, united in the defiance that had spread from her. Literal flames from a torch, passed on to light up the resolve within them.

And it made them ask, had _they_ ever lived, truly lived? Lives and souls dedicated to Elysion and the protection of the holy land, a most noble cause and sacrifice, but were they, as people before they were priests, willing to close their eyes and lower their heads in the face of death?

Or would they fight?

Fire could be shared, and not be decreased. The hope she ignited within them spread, and one by one their resolves lit afire. If they were to die, as they had known they would, then in that time before they died, while they were still alive, they would fight back with their will to survive, with their resolution to live. Better to have tried and failed than have done nothing at all. Contrary as he usually was, Acheron followed the example Sephira had set and decided to defy death when it told him it was his time to die.

Flames, energy of life given physical manifestations, colors of the rainbow and diverse, flickered into shape, following Sephira's example. Acheron, his fire the shade of indigo, held tightly to Cybele, the only other one to have orange flames like Sephira. On the other side of the old woman, Helios, his flames also the same indigo as Acheron's, flickered with the force of Cybele's large flames.

But hers, though larger than most, were nowhere near the size of Sephira's, powerful enough to fill the inner sanctum.

Acheron treated the dead, washed their bodies and prayed so that their spirits would pass safely. He did so, and he was close to death, or so he had thought.

In this moment, where Sephira's flames connected them all in body, heart and life, Acheron felt alive even as he was aware of impending death.

And he didn't want to die. With his dying will, he rejected death, and grasped for life, just as they all did.

Sephira screamed – they all screamed – and the heavens fell around them. The heavens fell, the gods died, everyone died –

But they lived. They survived, against all odds, fourteen priests of differing ages. They survived, and they _transcended_.

"Gods save us," murmured Cybele, the dust not yet cleared.

 _We saved ourselves_ , Acheron thought, contradicting the old woman in his mind but not daring to do so out loud. Or maybe he was too tired to do so. He hadn't – didn't – want to die, but he also wanted to sleep like the dead.

Sephira's flames had flickered down, from an ocean as vast as the skies to a thin stream.

She was, however, alive, as they all were. Her eyes were blue, but in that moment they still glowed with the orange her life's aura had been, twin suns. What did she see, Acheron wondered. What did the eyes that caught glimpses into the future see now?

Then she swayed on her feet before collapsing, and Acheron would have corrected himself on her status, except his head went white with panic at the sight of her body, crumpled on the ground.

All thirteen of them cried out and ran to her side, afraid that their savior, their fellow priest, their family was dead after having performed a miracle.

* * *

Yamamoto Takeshi and Miura Haru were two names the sailor soldiers were fond of. They hadn't been introduced formally, because their time with Hotaru had always been short and precious, and while they truly appreciated the two young children for having accepted Hotaru as their friend, they still had so little time they could spend with her.

(Now, if either of them had hurt Hotaru in some way, that would have been an entirely different story and an encounter would have been arranged.)

(Luckily for everyone, there was no hurting Hotaru, and no arrangements had to be made.)

Their existence in Hotaru's life, however, reminded the guardians of the solar system of a glaringly obvious fact.

"She's so young," Setsuna murmured.

Tomoe Hotaru had always been the youngest of them all. Even if Sailor Chibi-Moon was included – and she was – the future princess was technically older than most of them if they didn't count their first lives due to her age. Mentally, perhaps not, but she had still been nine hundred years old. And she was no longer with them, returned to her own time.

Hotaru had no peers in the group. She was bound to them, in bonds stronger than blood, and they to her, but that wasn't the same.

It was deeply unfair, and something for them to consider. All of them had civilian lives. Even Setsuna, before she had regained her memories of Sailor Pluto, had been Meiou Setsuna, had made friends with Nishimura Reika and Furuhata Motoki, still remained good friends with the newlywed couple.

They could be and would be her family. But could they be her friend, her peers, her equals in that sense?

In the future, when age lost its meaning, when a decade became a scant number hardly worth mentioning. But now?

The age of the body affected the mind, and for all that Hotaru had lived longer than her body suggested, she was still a child, on the cusp of becoming a teenager, while almost everyone else significant in her life was an adult.

All, except two.

Haruka huffed. "It's not a difficult problem," she said bluntly.

Michiru hid a smile behind one hand. "No, it's not."

"Only if she wants to," Setsuna pointed out. She knew they were right, though, when she last saw Hotaru before her powers returned. She definitely wanted to.

The only 'problem' would be getting her to admit that. Setsuna shook her head a little. Her daughter – their daughter – was sometimes just a little too self-denying, a little too altruistic.

But, well, anything for her happiness.

* * *

The Trojan War, the event which had ended the age of the gods and left Terra – Earth – to mortals, out of divine interference, had boasted of many heroes and their exploits.

But most notable of all, even in this age, was the tale of Achilles. A war that was not his, for he had never courted Helen, and a fate promising him a long life as an average man – or a blaze of glory, as a hero.

And he had thrown himself into the war that had immortalized his name in history, but died at a young age.

Sephira had come after the Trojan War, as all those of the Golden Kingdom did, but she remembered the story now as she looked at Giotto and Simon.

"You could live long, and prosperously," she said. They knew her as Sephira, the mysterious priestess rumored to have powers that kept her safe from the turmoil in the land, powers she had taught them how to harness.

Not out of kindness, no, more of a desperate attempt to distract herself from the truth she had discovered. The choice she had to make.

The choice she was stalling on. Even if she knew the inevitable, even if she knew what was needed –

The choice to die was a hard one to make, deliberately.

"You know this is a path of blood, and pain, and suffering," Sephira continued to the two young men. Giotto, who always put on a confident grin as if to say 'I could do this all day', and Simon, who always blushed when he saw her but had his wits and strengths, nonetheless. "That it could lead to your early deaths."

The fate of Achilles, to live long as a common man, or to die a warrior at a young age. She saw that within them.

And it wasn't worry, for Simon or for Giotto. It was a form of morbid curiosity, that they were able to make such a choice.

Giotto smiled, like he understood. Perhaps he did. "It could," he agreed. "I think we of all people should know that – these Flames, after all, are derived from facing death."

That was where her Flames had started, yes, but somewhere – somewhen – along the line, she had grown less aware of that threat, with immortality and generations of living and lives ruined for the greater good.

"It's terrifying, I can't lie," Giotto admitted. "Every day could be the last, every fight I think, this could be it."

He certainly didn't look like those were the thoughts haunting him. And yet he spoke the truth.

"But," Giotto said. "It's either me, or those behind me. And I stand a better chance of coming out alive."

"Even if one day, your strength, your fortune, your time may run out?" Could she be willing to die? After all she had sacrificed, the last one demanded of her, for the sake of this world, for the sake of yet-unborn gods – could she lay it down on the altar?

The young mortal shrugged. "If I must die, so be it," he answered, young but already aware of loss. "But before I die, I'll do everything I can to live – and to make sure others also live."

A spirit yet unbroken, bright and embracing.

Simon grinned, ears red at the tips. "What he said," he added on. "It's just not in our nature to sit back when we could do something, I guess."

"Because we're reckless idiots?" Giotto smirked, clearly quoting his other friend, the one with red Flames. Storm, Giotto called him.

"Obviously." Simon caught her eye, and the red extended to his cheeks. "Um, but Lady Sephira. You should know, though. It's just a choice. Our choice. If you don't want to, that's also fine, truly. We'd never ask that you put yourself in danger, or fight on the frontlines. Heaven knows you've done so much already, teaching us, supporting us, really, we couldn't have done it without you, I swear, and-"

Giotto quietly and not-very-subtly elbowed Simon in his ribs.

"Thanks," wheezed the redheaded man, after being cut off.

Sephira pretended to not notice. There was too much on her mind, too much going on, for her to accept the romantic feelings of a mortal man that didn't deserve her baggage. "Even if your choice demanded your life of you?"

Both of them, possessing the same kind of orange Flames she did, straightened their backs, as if her question had been a challenge issued that needed to be met with everything they had.

Sky, Simon had called Giotto, and it was both more abstract and a better description for what the orange Flames did.

"Even if," Giotto said. "If I didn't, I believe I'd regret it even past my death. Better to die having done something than to mull over it for the rest of my life. I'm mortal, after all – I'll eventually die, but if my death could have meant one more life was saved, I don't think I'd have as many regrets."

Simon, who was more like the Earth, as Giotto had christened him, nodded. "There's always a chance we might survive whatever disaster we've thrown ourselves into," he said, not blushing or stuttering. "And even if we do – we won't go down without a fight."

It was Giotto's words that struck her the most. It didn't apply to her situation, not fully, but –

Sephira was already dying. Her life was being prolonged, yes, but the damages she had taken over the centuries were sapping at her, slowly killing her. Two centuries, maybe, and she would die.

She could die ignobly, a death of long-drawn suffering and pain, or –

Or she could die, doing something.

It was an answer she had known, deep down, until the two mortal men in front of her had let her see the truth. An answer she had been refusing to see, until those far younger than her had pointed it out.

Acheron and Helios would not approve of what she was about to do. But –

"Talbot," she called, and the great-grandson of Daedalus showed himself. He was young, and despite his heritage had less Flames than even the two mortal men in the room. But he had inherited longevity from his father's side of the family, as well as the skills to create.

"Milady?"

Sephira kept her eyes on Giotto and Simon. The Arcobaleno system was still unstable. The Vindice, as the survivors were calling themselves, were still looking for the persona she and the other guardians had used to pick the seven strongest of each generation, not able to see past Acheron's illusions. With her death the world would be even more unstable.

Unless she took measures to keep it stable, using her own life as payment.

"Giotto and Simon are about to start a revolution," Sephira said. That was why they had come, to discuss their Flames and their future plans. They had named the Flames of Giotto's friends after weathers, and Simon's family after different terrains, and after telling her about all the shenanigans they had gone through with this new knowledge, spoke of their plans to become vigilantes and protect innocents from outlaws and conflict, from the laws that were _supposed_ to protect them.

Had they been born earlier, they would have been made the Arcobaleno of this generation. Sephira was rather glad that they weren't.

"I believe we should help equip them, should we not?"

Talbot, for all that he was young, shared the same unconventional tendencies of his great-grandsire. "Can I use the moonrock?"

Where his obsession with the moonrocks came from, Sephira didn't know and didn't want to know. "Something better, I think."

The young man's eyes widened, unsure of what was better to use than the materials come from a now-destroyed kingdom.

"And," she added, because if she was going to die, she would do so properly – by dying only after a legacy had been left. "Something for me, as well."

* * *

Kawahira's birthday present, it turned out, was an identity for Hotaru.

Setsuna rolled her eyes when she found out. "Show-off."

The papers – birth certificate, passport, vaccination records and so on – were all proof that she was a legal, existing person, with the right 'age' as she was now.

She picked up the birth certificate. January sixth, 1991. Ten years after she had first been born, if she thought about it.

"I'm surprised he knew what our cover story was," Michiru said, picking through her records. From her lack of raising a voice, it was clear she approved of them.

"I'm not," said Setsuna and Hotaru at the same time.

Other than her own name and her birthdate, there was also the names of her 'parents'. Her parents still had the same last name, but their first names had been changed. The two had died in a fire together, according to the profile he had added, leaving their daughter a not-too-shabby inheritance and insurance money, as well as family friends that would take good care of her.

Hotaru didn't mind that her father's name was changed, but her mother's . . .

Kawahira had made it so that it still sounded the same, just used different characters. For that she was grateful.

Hotaru did have to bite back a smile when she noticed that her 'father's' name was 'Riku', just written differently from his own name, with the kanji for 'land'. He would have found it funny and not missed the chance to make a pun.

It really was a good birthday present.

* * *

Talbot had done an exemplary job with the forging of the rings. Even his ancestor would have been proud, had Daedalus been around to see it.

To Simon went the rings that would refine Flames into something stronger, something more specialized. It was nowhere as important in terms of sustaining the world, but in terms of power it would be fairly close.

And to Giotto went one of the now-three foundations of this world, until the Golden Crystal returned.

"You're both capable of lighting Flames on your own," Sephira said to her students. It wasn't just her influence or teachings that had made them so powerful – it was their innate resolve.

A kind of resolve she had forgotten, over the years.

"But the rings will help."

Make it easier, stronger, purer, and so on.

They were excited, as men with new toys were wont to be, but it was a genuine kind that was happy in the thoughts of what _good_ they could do, rather than what they could _gain_.

Sephira wondered if power would change and corrupt them.

"What is your greatest wish?" Sephira asked, impulsively. And if she pressed them with something a little _more_ to bring out the truth, well, who was to know?

Simon flushed and looked away, as if he was guilty of even looking at her. She eased the force on him, not needing a confession of love to make the moment awkward. That was an answer she had no need of.

Giotto smirked at his friend's embarrassment, but took it upon himself to answer.

"I wish," he said, half-smiling down at the set of rings Sephira had given him. One for him, and each of his closest friends. Guardians. They had taken the term she used along with her teachings, and seeing as it fit she didn't see a need to stop them. "That I can continue to be happy with those who are precious to me."

Sephira sighed. It was a beautiful wish that came from the heart, but what she saw for him –

She kept what her Sight told about his future silent.

"Then go," she told them both instead, referring not to the wish but to the first reason why they had come to her. "Make the world of peace you spoke of."

* * *

"Ami was thinking of saying you have Guillain-Barre Syndrome," Setsuna said. Kawahira's gift meant Hotaru's past was secured and spoken for, which meant they could now work on her present. "We'll say that you went to to the hospital to be treated, and then spend a few months in rehabilitation."

Rehabilitation. It wasn't a lie. It really was rehabilitation – she needed to get used to her powers again, and also to train to catch up to the others. As if the space between the years of experience they had hadn't been great enough, there was an even greater distance now.

Takeshi and Haru didn't even need the name of the disease or the specifics of how it worked, when it came down to it. They were more concerned with the time it would take for the treatment to work, for the rehabilitation period, and whether they could visit or not.

"How long will it take?"

That was a good question. How long _would_ her 'rehabilitation' take? The training plan they had in mind was for her to spend some time on Saturn, let Titan Castle synchronize with her powers again, and get used to using them.

Then – and only then – would she start being trained by the other sailor soldiers, on their own planets and castles. Now that she was recovered and not in danger of reacting to other sailor crystals, other sailors from outside the solar system, like the Starlights and Princess Kakyuu could visit.

Ninety consecutive days at Titan, and then an unknown period of training at each of the seven other planets, depending on how fast she caught up.

It would be difficult, but she had a reason to hurry, and the resolve to push herself like she never had before.

"I think at least seven months," Hotaru estimated. If she spent two weeks or so training at each of the castles, then she could be back in that time. Back to her friends, back to a civilian life, back to growing up, maybe reaching adulthood – finally.

Given how picky Haruka could be, Hotaru rather doubted she might be able to get her approval in just two weeks' time. Actually, come to think of it, that applied to Setsuna and Michiru and – oh, who was she kidding, everyone.

"At least," Hotaru added. She was going to be put through a lot of suffering in the name of 'training'.

"Seven _months_?!" Haru shrieked. Takeshi, who had been near her, winced at the screech, but if it hadn't been for that he would have been right there with her in expressing his disbelief.

"Maybe more," Hotaru said, feeling a little guilty at how both their faces dropped at that addition. "Depending on how it goes. I'll try to come back as soon as I can."

She'd definitely be back before the new school year started in April, anyways. If she wasn't done training in time, the sailor soldiers would just train Hotaru through school.

Haru opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again and then pressed her lips closed without saying a thing.

"What she means is," Takeshi said, picking up where Haru was hesitating, "we'll miss you a lot."

Haru's eyes glistened with tears and she wailed. "Hotaru-chan!"

Hotaru let herself be glomped by Haru.

"I'll write," she promised. If she was going to be put through the bootcamp from hell in seven different versions, the least she could ask of her trainers were that they deliver some letters on her behalf. "And I'll get better, and when I come back we can go to school together. I've never been to middle school. It might be fun."

She actually never had. It would be a new experience, for sure.

"Us neither," Takeshi pointed out. Since Hotaru couldn't very well tell him that she had attended elementary school longer than he had, she kept her mouth shut and smiled instead. It was new for all of them, so that could be fun.

"Hahi! Middle school!" Haru's spine snapped up straight. "What school are you going to?!"

Hotaru . . . actually didn't know. Haru was going to Midori, an all girls' school known for students with high grades, while Takeshi was planning on going to Namimori Middle, the middle school with the strongest sports clubs in the town, baseball included.

"A school in Namimori . . . ?" she tried, and received two very flat looks in return. Which was fair.

* * *

It was a bright day, birds were chirping in the skies, and flowers were beginning to open up their petals with the arrival of spring, when Acheron's world might as well have come to an end with Sephira's decision.

"I don't like it," Acheron said. He knew his words would be futile. After that day, when Sephira discovered the truth about herself, after she had spoken with the sprite of the dead silver queen, she had changed.

But they all had, so what could he say? From humans to what they had thought only the gods of the heavens could do. They were not guardians of the planet, not in the sense that their souls were the hearts of their beloved Terra and vice versa, but they were still worthy of the title 'guardians'.

Sephira had restored the world of life, to the best of her abilities. Rebirth of an entire humanity with none the wiser in the blink of an eye, the world populated again and no one to know there had been a restart.

It wasn't the same – but they weren't the same, either, closer to what the residents of the moon had been than the Golden Kingdom's, so who were they to talk?

Centuries of upholding and keeping the world's balance by feeding the crystals Sephira had been left with after making her choice, centuries of choosing human sacrifices, Sephira made a choice again.

Acheron did not like her choice, but she had already done it, and there was no undoing her decision. He had only been informed after, which was probably done to avoid his attempting to convince her to change her mind. He would have tried very hard, he knew, and Sephira knew, even without having to look into the future.

"I _was_ born mortal," Sephira pointed out. On her right hand a stone with an orange gem the same shade as her Flames glittered. The silver wings at its side seemed to mock Acheron. "And it's fitting that I die a mortal, a human."

 _We_ aren't _human, we haven't_ been _human for so long, I don't even_ remember _what it was like to_ be _human._ The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Acheron bit them back, just barely.

" _Must_ you die?" he asked instead to the woman that had once been of a high station, one of the highest in the world, but thrown it all away to a life in the temple, who had called him little brother and meant it.

Acheron was once an orphan that found salvation in the family made by lonely souls isolated in the temple, was once a priest who performed the funeral rites, was now a very old man wearing a young skin who had buried most of his family since his mortal days save two.

And now one of them was telling him she planned to die. Let herself die.

Acheron was not ready to part. He never was, really. If Sephira left, all that would be left of the original fourteen would be he and Helios. Helios, whose duties with upholding Elysion left him in slumber most of the time.

"Yes." Sephira was firm. "Because Endymion will not be reborn if I am alive, and if we prolong this, I will have to watch you and Helios die."

Of. All. The. Reasons. A wave of fury and frustration and disbelief rose up inside him, and he had to struggle to fight it back. When he spoke again, he was glad to hear that the emotions hadn't stained his tone with their color.

"And so, you leave the painful part to us," Acheron said drily. Selfish woman.

Sephira smiled. It was a genuine smile, not the one she forced to reassure them all. Selfish?

Acheron rescinded his thoughts. For too long Sephira had been forced to make choices that drove her to near-madness with guilt. They had all felt the guilt – and some of them had died from it, unable to face their decisions without grief or sorrow or madness – but Sephira, seeing what could be, had felt it the most.

And yet she had to stand strong, as their leader, and plaster on a smile and pretend everything would be fine. In the grand scheme of things it was, the planet continued to exist, and the balance of life was maintained, and the screams of the few sacrificed for the many went muffled by the chess players they had become, and with each generation of the rainbow's curse Sephira broke, little by little.

"Because you still want to live," Sephira whispered.

He hated that she knew him so well. "And you don't?"

Sephira pressed a hand to her stomach, where an unborn babe awaited. A part of the decision he strongly disapproved of – but again, his opinion was going to do nothing to change her mind.

"I'll live long enough to watch her grow," she reassured him. "You'll be godfather."

It was not a question or a request, a mere statement of fact. He might have been angry for her assuming except he knew what his answer would have been.

"Godfather to a girl," Acheron drawled. The last time any of the original guardians had given birth to children had been shortly after the first Arcobaleno had been chosen. He wasn't particularly sure how he'd take to being partially responsible for a child now, after all he and the others had done for the 'greater good', not when he was too used to the years passing like days now. "Troublesome little ones, don't think I haven't noticed."

How many of the children born to the original guardians, how many of their grandchildren, their great-grandchildren called him Uncle, Godfather, whatever endearment of choice?

And how many of them, blessed with Flames stronger than the average human, had been picked to be the sacrifices upholding the world's foundations when their ancestors grew too few in number to fulfil their roles?

"I've made my choice."

Damn her. Acheron swept a hand through his hair roughly, and even as he lacked the Sight as she did he could guess what would happen. Her descendants, regardless of what lifespan they were given, would have the strongest Flames for generations. There would be no way for them to avoid becoming picked as the sacrifices upholding the world's foundations.

"And your descendants will pay." He'd also need a decent human identity, to be godfather. One good enough to pass the careful eye of the Giglio Nero, the newly-established family of vigilantes run by Sephira's human identity. Her last one, now.

Sephira looked up, and her eyes glowed with the orange of her flames. "As all the descendants of my guardians did. Mine should not be the exception, not when they also live within this world we fought to uphold for so long."

She meant it. But at the same time, she had also given up her longevity, what little had remained after she had made her decision to turn down true godhood for her – for their – conditional immortality. Acheron sighed at the price she had paid, to buy her daughter some safety from bearing the weight of the world.

"That should be enough to keep the world stabilized for a few generations," he conceded. Her daughter, and her daughter's daughter would be safe. Probably. Between the two of them, he wasn't the seer.

But even the life she imparted would not be enough to sustain the life of Terra, not by herself, not when she was not the soldier entrusted with the planet's soul. Eventually the flames she had left would run out, and then the rainbow's curse would have to be repeated once more if a miracle did not come to be in time.

If Sephira's descendants were alive at that point, then they would be the first candidates, of that Acheron had no doubts.

Sephira nodded. "I'm hoping," she said. Hoping that a miracle of the scale she had created during the Apocalypse would happen again.

Acheron did not approve.

"Like you hoped with that mortal?" He didn't really approve of that man, either. Sephira claimed there was potential for greatness in him. Perhaps there was, but Acheron had seen too many 'greats' in his time, some even greater than this Giotto. He wasn't easily impressed. The only things that would keep him in Acheron's memory was his audacity, at naming the Flames after _weathers_ of all things, and Sephira's choosing him to bear the shards that had broken away after she gave up her immortality.

Weathers. What was wrong with colors? It had served the original guardians of Elysion _fine_ for centuries, and along came this uppity mortal-

"Exactly."

Acheron resisted the urge to pull at his hair. Sephira, probably having caught sight of what he was considering, reached up to ruffle his hair like she had always done.

"I'm sorry I'm leaving you with all the difficult things," she apologized. Which was unfair, really. How was he supposed to be angry now, when she freely admitted what she was doing to him and admitted it?

"I won't interfere with the two sets of rings," he said. It was meant to be a threat, but it came out half-hearted. "Merely watch over them."

"I know," she agreed readily, because of course she did. "That's why they're removable. It's their choice." Her eyes flicked down to her hand, where the ring with the wings sat glittering innocently. "My choice."

Choice. Right. Because that was a good idea, to make something so fundamental to the world's foundations be based on human choice.

The part of him that had removed the garbs of a priest, the robes that named him a servant of Elysion after hearing the truth about their planet's history that fateful day wanted to scream at the irony. Choice. Human choice.

The choice that had chased out the gods from Earth, the choice that had made Earthlings rise up to the heavens in defiance – stained in greed and tainted by an outside evil, yes, but nonetheless – and kill the gods, before judgement came down upon them all. The choice that he saw perpetuate evil throughout the world in the history he had witnessed.

"Sephira," he groaned. " _Why_?"

She shrugged. "Because they don't need to last as long? Because surely, a revelation shall appear in time? With three legs to stand on, maybe there won't have to be any more rainbows to keep the world alive until Endymion is reborn."

He exhaled, reminding himself that it wasn't unusual for Sephira to do this. To be a tyrant and a dictator and do whatever the hell she wanted because she was just like that.

But _by the gods he usually didn't call to_ , it had been easier to deal with when he wasn't the one responsible. He missed being the youngest one – next to Helios – who could snicker as the other guardians had to scramble to keep up with Sephira's spontaneous actions.

The smile on his lips he hadn't been aware of slipped a little, when he realized that yes, it _was_ a little unusual for Sephira to be unpredictable or spontaneous, had been ever since Cybele died and she was the only orange flame left among them. And that had been a _long_ time ago.

"He'll come," Sephira reassured him. "Endymion, and all the other sailor soldiers, they'll be reborn, and the world can be saved."

Acheron didn't bother telling her that her words sounded like she needed them more than he did. It was what had kept her going all these centuries, before she realized that her death was the necessary catalyst for what she had been working for.

The old age had to die, for the new to begin. And Sephira was the last major linchpin of that old era. He and Helios were nowhere near as important or significant enough to be that.

Sephira had to die, for Endymion to be reborn. For the world to be settled enough so that the sailor soldiers all could.

"A new king, a new era," she seemed to sing those words.

"He was a prince," Acheron said without much heat behind his words. A prince in love with an unattainable goddess – and as was the case with all forbidden love stories it had ended with tragedies.

"Born and raised to be a king," Sephira reminded Acheron. Only centuries of knowing her let Acheron see the remaining pieces of her despair from old memories and scars, renewed by the realization that had struck her recently. " _Our_ king."

He did not like the mortal that had drawn Sephira's attention. It was petty of him – incredibly petty, he knew – because even if this Giotto had not drawn Sephira's eye, eventually some other mortal would have caught her attention while she was still dealing with the revelation of her death's necessity, helped her accept the truth.

But he would agree with one thing the human had said, about the orange flames being like that of the Sky.

Ever since that day, so many centuries ago, when the heavens had collapsed and the world had nearly ended, and the Apocalypse had unfolded before their eyes but they had survived, Acheron had always looked not to the heavens where the kingdom of gods had been, but to Sephira.

Their leader, their new heaven, their queen without a crown or a throne, their savior. A ridiculous woman that claimed she would now be selfish because she had learnt she wanted to live, only to give up godhood for the sake of the world and suffer unnecessarily. Their Sky.

There would never be anyone that could ever take her place, not to him.

"He might be my prince," Acheron admitted, though he loathed to do so. "But you will always be my queen."

Sephira tried to smile. She failed, and started to weep.

Reverted to the time when he had been a young boy with older siblings and parental figures and a small world with all the love he had never even dared to dream of, Acheron silently wept alongside her, two relics of an age less than a handful remembered shedding tears at the inevitable finally here.

Even now, Acheron wasn't ready.

But, as he had learned over the centuries of his extended life, it was never about whether he, or anyone, was ready or not. And maybe he deserved to lose one of the two remaining constants in his life for the sake of a 'greater good', after having ruined the lives of so many for that very cause.

* * *

Granny did not cry. That was likely because Granny was Granny and she expressed herself in words and actions rather than tears.

She gave Hotaru's three parents a hard look. "This is something to do with that weird allergy of hers?"

"Kind of," Setsuna admitted. "Now that she's better and doesn't react negatively to our presence anymore, she just needs to recover."

Hotaru nodded at her side, showing that she was in full support of what Setsuna said.

Granny looked them over with eyes that would have made a hawk's seem dim in comparison.

"Alright," she said at last, before she fixed her gaze on Hotaru. "But if you ever need a place to run away to, Hotaru-kun."

Remembering Granny's words to Haru, Hotaru giggled.

"I will, Granny," she said, tears less than what she had expected. Granny was still Granny, and now that she would be living in Namimori she would always be able to drop by and visit. "Thank you."

Granny waved it off. She took gratitude like she always did – with gruffness.

"And make sure she eats," she added to the nearest person, who happened to be Haruka. "If the hospital food's bad, get her the good stuff. Don't let her starve."

Haruka smirked. "Got it, Granny."

Her caretaker of several years looked at Hotaru and nodded coolly. "Take care of yourself."

This time there was no funny memories to hold back the tears that sprang from her eyes. "I will."

* * *

When Sephira gave up her longevity, there wasn't much life left in her. Factor in just how injured she had become over the last few centuries, and how draining her duty to uphold the burden of the planet while her metaphorical hands were tied behind her back had been, and it was a wonder to Acheron that her body made it to the physical age of forty-four.

Her daughter was asleep, the Mare ring on her finger after Sephira had passed her position along with it to her, when Acheron slipped into her room and let the illusion fall away to reveal his true face. The dark of the night meant the stars in the distance were visible, bright in the sky, but Sephira's eyes couldn't see them.

"You're dying," Acheron said.

"I've noticed," Sephira said dryly. Her voice was cracking, but even as she was in her literal deathbed, she wouldn't let anyone get the last word.

Acheron could not sass back or make jokes. The moments were slipping away, too fast. Unsure of what to say that would best fit these precious moments, he held his tongue.

Helios slipped in, the first time he had physically left Elysion since the rings had been made and entrusted to the mortals.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the heavy breathing that came from Sephira, the weary labor of someone on her last bit of time.

"Time for my last words," she mused quietly at last.

Acheron's face was hidden by the shadows in the room, but his face was wet. He knew, without looking that Helios shared this with him, but they dared not make a sound and interrupt her.

"I've always told you two," she paused to take in a breath. "And everyone else, just what I thought, what I felt."

All the times she had called them idiots when they did something reckless – though that was more with the others. He and Helios had usually been in the background, and avoided the stupidity in general because they weren't idiots, they didn't risk their lives on dares. All the times she had wept, apologizing to them for binding them to this terrible duty. All the times she had vomited up blood, trying to keep the children of the original guardians, and later the descendants, from being chosen to be the sacrifices for having the strongest flames when there weren't enough of the guardians to uphold the world's balance, and despaired when the backlash of trying to cheat the system had punished her, and her only. All the times she had screamed, when one by one the original guardians died and she couldn't heal them, only hold them and feel their lives slip away from her, out of her reach.

All the times she had wrapped her arms around them, told them she loved them very much.

"I love you both," Sephira said now, and a sob escaped his brother's throat at last before he clapped a hand across his mouth. Acheron bit down on his tongue and held his breath, but more tears ran down his face, hot and wet and uncontrollable. "You were my brothers. _Are_ my brothers. My-" she choked, and had to struggle to regain her breath. "Family."

A harsh exhale was the only sound Acheron allowed himself, because he had to be quiet right now, let her speak. The inside of his mouth tasted of blood, but he had priorities.

Helios fell to his knees, and he crawled forth to take her hand.

"Please don't go," he begged. He had always been the youngest of the guardians, not just because of his age, but also because of the nature of his powers. Dream-keeper and walker, the last of Elysion's priests after everyone else had either died or laid aside their clothes to live outside the city's boundaries, he had to remain in Elysion and sustain the holy land while the rest of them upheld what went on outside the sacred land, and most of his life had been spent asleep.

Age, though, did not mean this loss would be any less devastating. Acheron drew closer and knelt next to Helios. He wouldn't beg for Sephira to stay, because he knew that was pointless, but –

She had always been an older sister, to them. Two orphan boys with only the vaguest memories of what their lives had been before Elysion took them in and they were reborn with a family transcending ties of blood.

Sephira had always been there, for them. And that could no longer be true.

"I'm sorry," Sephira said, her usual apology. For burdening them with a duty that had been born from her choice. For bestowing upon them immortality and partial godhood. For leaving them with the duty of making the sacrifices. For leaving them alone.

Acheron shook his head as Helios finally broke and sobbed.

* * *

"I feel like I should know," groaned Mamoru. The Shitennou could not remember orange flames, names of priests from Elysion, or anyone with the name 'Sephira'. He could not remember what she looked like, and it was too far a memory for his psychometry to dig up despite his desperate attempts.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her, or that he should know what she looked like.

The Golden Crystal within him pulsed with his efforts, and again, his mind's eye caught sight of a woman on fire.

Had she died _,_ Mamoru wondered, half-mad from his scrying the fires in his head. Hotaru, relaying the information Acheron had given her to him, had said that she had saved Terra's life – or at least, brought them back after Saturn – but such a feat would have been devastating.

Maybe, after she created the miracle that allowed him and all the other sailor soldiers to be born, she had died from the strain.

A tear rolled down his face, and Mamoru realized belatedly that the thought made him unbearably sad.

* * *

"If he doesn't remember me," Sephira rasped, using the last of her dying breath on ties that had been cut for so long. "Then – don't tell him the truth."

Her life was extended by the desire to ask them this, hung to her body by the thinnest threads. But her will had always been great, strong enough to hold her own life and thirteen others against the force of death. That will kept her stubbornly clinging now, wanting to hear their answers.

Helios paused, unsure on how to answer because he did not fully understand. He had not seen Sephira's despair and self-loathing, the complex mess that her emotions had become over the years.

But Acheron had borne witness to it, knew just how much guilt she had suffered from – and the weight of her feelings.

It would probably be for the best, he figured. For both Sephira now, and for Endymion's reincarnation.

"We won't," Acheron promised, ready to move hell if he could not affect the heavens. "And we'll make sure he's safe."

Reassured, Sephira let her eyes slide shut. "Thank you," she rasped.

 _Better an expression of gratitude as her last words_ , Acheron told himself as Helios buried his face into his hands and wept _, better that than another apology_.

* * *

AN: I know I usually update on Tuesdays but I realized that on both this site and on AO3, Petrichor has passed the 50 subscriber mark. I would have written an 'if' kind of scenario but we're still really early in the story and I wanted to avoid spoilers so here, have a monstrously long chapter early. Next update will be on Tuesday as usual!

Also, for those who want a more succint summary of this interlude, here are some TL;DRs because I had too much fun writing them.

/

Sephira: All my life I've been good, but now, whoa, what the hell do you mean we're going to die we're not having that here no listen I don't care if you're a destroyer of worlds with the goddess of death's scythe I said NO.

/

Talbot: *basically Hatsume Mei during his youth* Can I use the moonrocks?

Sephira: *why is he so obsessed with moonrocks Daedalus what part of your blood passes down this literal lunacy* No something better.

Talbot: Ooooh, shiny.

/

Sephira: alright, so Giotto should get one half of the split rocks because his words were the ones that made me think 'fine' and accept my inevitable death gracefully, and Simon . . .

Simon: *blushes every time he sees Sephira / every time Sephira speaks to him / every time she looks at him* *verbal vomit when he speaks to her and spends the night kicking at his blankets thinking 'god I'm stupid why did I say that I bet she thinks I'm dumb now'* *HUGE CRUSH*

Sephira: *looks at the stones, which broke but left the 'rainbow fragments', and imbues the fragments with power that makes them more similar to the terrain he described his friends being*

Sephira: Talbot I need you to make something.

(Or: Giotto might have gotten one of the three pillars supporting this world but he also got the responsibility and burdens that come with it while Simon got a slightly weaker but still incredibly strong, unique, changes user's Flames to corresponding Earth Flames ring, so who's Sephira's favorite, huh?)

/

Acheron: So who's the dad?

Sephira: Noneya.

Acheron: I'm the godfather?

Sephira: And I'm the one that has to give birth what is your point.

Acheron: Touché.

Helios: What am I, then?

Acheron: The imaginary best friend (says this as a compliment but no one else hears it as that).

Helios: (｡•́︿•̀｡)

Sephira:（╬ಠ益ಠ)

Acheron: (꒡ꜙ꒡)

/

Sephira: *old / tired / had to accept that her death was necessary / guilt-ridden / somehow not insane or is she* don't . . . let . . . Endymion . . . know . . . .

Helios: *hesitant / asleep like 24/7 if Elysion isn't threatened / sweet sunshine cinnamon roll who worries about Sephira* Are you sure? Communication is important and-

Acheron: *what the fuck is communication / unhealthy coping methods in human shape / obfuscating troll who worries about Sephira* okay.


	15. Rehabilitation

The heels of her boots clicked as Sailor Saturn walked in the halls of Castle Titan for the first time in years. Even during her slumber, in the Silver Millennium, the princess of the planet of destruction had always been asleep within its halls, silent caretakers passing through like ghosts and waiting for the day their charge would be summoned.

"Princess Saturn!" cried an exuberant voice, and the Sailor Power Guardian that had been waiting for her return all this time shot through the air, only to skid to a halt almost comically in front of her to avoid the collision. Even though, she almost vibrated in her spot, filled with excitement.

"Guardian Saturn," greeted Sailor Saturn with a warm smile, extending her hands out to offer the lookalike sprite a place to stand. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

The small fairy shook her head quickly. "I'm just glad you've recovered fully," said the sprite. "Princess Pluto told me you wouldn't be able to return, so I waited with Titan Castle."

"Thank you," she said, grateful. The magic of the castle that was her birthright felt right. Not old or empty, in the same way cold houses unlived in tended to, but alive. Warm. Welcoming.

The manifestation of her powers smiled, before her expression grew serious. "But we have an urgent matter that needs to be resolved immediately."

Saturn tensed. Neither Pluto nor the others had told her of such a thing. It must have been internal, then, something wrong with the planet that the other sailor soldiers hadn't noticed.

Guardian Saturn met her eyes, and said with more seriousness than she had ever shown before, "I need a name."

Behind her, Sailor Pluto, who had come with her just in case, muffled a giggle behind her gloved hand.

"All the other Sailor Power Guardians received names!" Guardian Saturn cried out, while Sailor Saturn was stunned and silent. "I was the only one left out for so long!"

"Guardian Venus started it," expanded Pluto. "Sailor Venus gave her sprite the name she had back in the Silver Millennium, and the others followed suit when their respective guardians also complained."

Sailor Saturn would have laughed at that image – the small, fairy-forms of their powers organizing a protest in demands of names – but she felt terrible, for having left her own power's manifestation alone for so long.

"I know circumstances didn't allow it," Saturn said quietly. "But I am still sorry, for having left you alone."

Different from the others, alone in that experience – it was how Sailor Saturn had been during their first lives. That her own Sailor Power Guardian had also had to feel she was also alone left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"May I call you Makaria?" she requested. It was a name that felt unfamiliar to her, after a lifetime of not having anyone use it to call to her, but it had been her name before she was reborn as Tomoe Hotaru.

She was no longer Makaria, but she once had been.

Guardian Saturn clapped her small hands over her mouth, eyes filling with tears. "Of course," she breathed. "Of course. It's an honor, princess."

* * *

Hotaru's parents moved to Namimori, but Hotaru was away.

Before she left, though, she had taken both Takeshi and Haru to her new house, and introduced them to her three parents. Takeshi and Haru accepted it, not questioning _why_ she had three, or why all of them were women. It didn't matter, as long as the three women cared about Hotaru.

"At least one of them should be here at any time," she said, as Haru and Takeshi marvelled at the large house. "So if you have any questions, or," she paused and fidgeted, lacking confidence.

"If we have any letters," chirped Haru, picking up where Hotaru was hesitant to continue. "We'll bring them here."

Hotaru smiled, relief evident.

One day after she had left, Hotaru's papa had dropped by. Takeshi had missed Haruka, but Haru had come out of the house just in time to see the tall blond woman.

"Hey," she said with a salute and a grin, and Haru blushed. If Hotaru was like a princess, then her papa was like the princes Haru had dreamed of. Tall, handsome, charming . . .

But she loved one of Hotaru's mamas a lot, so that was that.

"Hi, Haruka-san," she said, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ears because there was a sudden urge to make sure her hair was fine. "Is there a letter from Hotaru?"

"There is," she said, handing the envelope over. Behind, Hotaru's neat writing had spelled out Haru's name. "She's already doing pretty well, but she says she misses you guys a lot."

Haru clutched the letter to herself and beamed. "We miss her too!"

Haruka's lips quirked into a fond smile, and Haru had to resist the urge to blush. Hotaru was pretty, Haruka was handsome, Michiru was elegant, and Setsuna was mysterious. Hotaru's family might not have been related by blood, but they were all incredibly beautiful.

And, Haru wasn't going to lie, she had a major weakness for beautiful people.

"Just drop any replies you want to send her with us," Haruka told her, echoing what Hotaru had said. "If we're not there, you can leave it in our mailbox."

That reminded Haru, though. "We could just mail it to her," Haru suggested. "We don't want to be a bother."

Postage stamps didn't cost too much, and Haru's mother had worried they might be a bother to Hotaru's parents.

Haruka paused before grinning like there was an inside joke. "No bother, don't worry. We're a lot faster than snail mail."

She patted Haru's head – and she was just so _cool_ , it was unfair, Haru didn't know _how_ but it _was_ – and gave a little wave. "See you around, Haru-chan."

Haru quietly had to hold back a squeal, and her heart rate didn't return to normal until Haruka was long out of her sight.

* * *

Saturn was much bigger than the Earth. It also happened to have more moons than the planet Tomoe Hotaru had been born on.

But what it had in size, it failed to make up in infrastructure and life, though the latter was partially her fault. Titan Castle was the only inhabitable area on the entire planet, all its satellites included.

Which meant it was really the only place she needed to stay at. The enchanted castle would orbit around Saturn anyways, passing by its moons and being a focal point for the planet's magic. It was a lot better than having to trek all around the planet, and much faster at that.

"And that's the last of it," Makaria said, looking proud.

Sailor Saturn nodded. That was the last of the tour, with Makaria taking her around the castle to demonstrate all the functions available in the rooms. Queen Selene's gift to them might have been beautiful, but their birthrights were also functional. Their castles served as reserves and transmitters of their own power should they be off their home planets, as well as a mobile fortress.

"Impressive," was the word she used, because it was. The castles were truly magnificent, the pinnacle of everything the Silver Millennium's advanced knowledge, magic and technology had been capable of. It was nice to finally be able to appreciate its glory.

Makaria beamed. "Isn't it?"

The only thing that made the castle less than perfect, Saturn thought as they began making their way back to the command room. Was that it was empty and uninhabited. Titan Castle could host a thousand people, easily, and the lack of life save for herself and Makaria left the emptiness all that more glaringly obvious.

Before she could sink into more depressing thoughts, the screen chimed with a request for communication from Miranda Castle.

"Hey, Saturn," greeted Sailor Uranus with her usual confident cheer when she responded. "Getting used to the castle?"

She was. It wasn't impossible to draw her magic while she had been back on Earth, but it was vastly different to do so while on Saturn itself, the wellspring of her own power. Like there was a difference in being able to relax at a hotel, and at her own home. Far easier, far more fulfilling.

And Titan Castle was beautiful, truly. It was unfamiliar to her, and the rooms were elegant and beautiful and pleasing to look at, but also familiar because of the magic that ran through it like blood ran through the human body, the very same magic that was intertwined with her soul.

Sailor Uranus grinned at her answer, and changed the subject to what the planet Saturn and Titan Castle lacked, to make it her true home. "I've got replies from your friends."

Hotaru broke out into a smile.

* * *

Namimori was the same, even after Hotaru left to the hospital.

And that felt a little wrong to Takeshi. He didn't realize just how much of his everyday life had involved Hotaru being there. For a long time, she had been always just _there_.

It left a bit of a hole, to be honest. But Hotaru had promised she'd be back soon, and she kept her promises. Takeshi focused on baseball to keep his mind from dwelling on that empty feeling. He couldn't spend it with Haru, not when she was getting busy with school, because it was their last year as elementary students. Soon they would be in middle school.

Baseball would be more fun in middle school, he remembered his teacher telling him. More serious, if he was up to the challenge.

Takeshi kind of hoped that Hotaru would come to Namimori Middle with him. He didn't have anyone else he would have considered a 'real friend' at his school. Hotaru seemed to believe he wouldn't have any difficulty making friends, but he doubted it. He knew most of the kids from elementary, by name if not by sight, knew that they were the people he would be attending middle school with.

Unless they drastically changed somehow, Takeshi didn't think any of them would become people he truly considered a 'friend' in the way he considered Hotaru and Haru 'friends'. And people, Takeshi knew, didn't change easily.

* * *

There were three plans, as made by Mercury, three options she could choose after Saturn spent time on her own planet to 'fully' recover.

"The first is to focus on your control," Mercury had said. Because Saturn had power, almost too much of it, but fine control was not something she had been given time to develop. In terms of her technique, Saturn was sorely lagging behind the others. This was Pluto's idea, because as someone with terrible power at her disposal, she knew best the importance of control.

"The second, your power." Because one could also argue that if she couldn't first know her limits – just how much of her power she could exert without crossing the line to her strongest, most devastating unleashing of her power – she couldn't have fine control. Starting big and gradually decreasing her strength was also an option. Neptune had been the one to suggest this method, because she was the soldier of the deep seas and some things, like the deep, wide oceans she ruled, were best left controlled by swimming _with_ the flow, not against it.

"The third," Mercury paused as she grimaced.

The third option, which had been thrown out by Uranus, was for Saturn to just get used to fighting and using her powers in combat by sparring with the other sailor soldiers on their own respective planets until she received a passing mark from all of them.

"Because nothing beats actual experience," Uranus said, cracking her knuckles. "Especially when it comes to a fight."

None of them could argue against that, but at the same time, their basic moral senses were _screaming_ at them to use their common rationalities and say out loud, 'This is a terrible idea'.

"It's a little reckless," Pluto said, the voice of reason, not outright condemning what Uranus suggested. She was pragmatic, she knew that it was, really, the best way, but that was why she had also suggested an alternative, in the hopes of taking it easy on Saturn.

"But it's the fastest way," Uranus pointed out, ever practical when it came down to discussing combat or speed.

It was also the one that would get her suffering the most. Saturn could just imagine the beating she would receive. Uranus definitely wouldn't go easy on her. Neither would Pluto, come to think of it, because while she may have been reluctant, if Saturn made her decision she would not do a half-baked job. Neptune would be sympathetic before and after her training, but during the sessions?

And she didn't even need to start on the inner guardians. Venus was dead serious when it came to their duties as sailor soldiers. Mercury was strategic. Mars was terrifying even when she was a civilian. Jupiter was powerful, both magically and physically, and while the former Saturn might have been able to match the latter? She would be crushed like a bug.

In short this was the method that would likely get her killed multiple times, like an entire term of physical education classes crammed into one hour.

But it was also the fastest way, as Uranus had pointed out. There were plans for them to start talking to other sailor soldiers, ones that had been revived after the incident at the Cauldron. The solar system had been closed off because of her, but now that Sailor Saturn was back in action there could be no further quarantine.

And opening up the solar system to allow for entrance of other sailor soldiers meant it was best if she could pull her own weight.

If she wanted to fight alongside them, she had to be able to do her share.

Really, there was only one choice she could make.

Saturn ended up going with the third option. The sailor soldiers began planning out schedules, because they had civilian lives as well, and when Uranus was the first one, Tomoe Hotaru silently began planning out her last will and testament.

* * *

' _My physiotherapist is trying to kill me.'_

Takeshi paused at that part in the letter. Hotaru must have really been suffering if she wrote it like that. Not 'this is hard' or 'I hate exercise'.

 _'I hate physical exercise.'_

There it was, that was more like her.

Takeshi read the rest of the letter. That was the extent of her complaints, but this was from Hotaru, who was almost always optimistic, who never really complained about anything. She must have been suffering a lot.

Other than that, she seemed to be doing fine. Her parents were supportive, and the hospital food wasn't as bad as Takeshi worried, he didn't have to worry about her not eating, and she was making progress.

' _I'm going to go to Midori,'_ she had written near the end, decision made. It made sense, Takeshi supposed, carefully folding up the letter like he had with all her letters, despite the bad news this one had brought him. Midori was where the smart girls went, and Hotaru was probably the smartest girl he had ever met, ever would meet.

Still, he couldn't help the sting of disappointment. That meant that in their group of three, he was the only one attending a different school.

Takeshi hoped Hotaru returned quickly. If they couldn't go to the same school, then he wanted to spend more time with her while he could.

* * *

Saturn panted, sore all over. At least her sparring with Uranus had been – though it almost hurt her to say – easier than this. Uranus had let her use the Silence Wall when she couldn't dodge the World Shakings and Space Sword Blasters she threw out.

Pluto, on the other hand, did no such thing.

"We both use staff-based weapons," she had said, tossing Saturn a staff. The Silence Glaive was too powerful a weapon to use in basic sparring, and it was her technique they were working on, she said.

Her words were logical. They were also terrifying.

But fear wasn't going to make Sailor Saturn back down, so the Garnet Rod and the Silence Glaive were set aside in exchange for staffs, plain and simple, and Pluto charged at her, wielding it as expertly as she would her Talisman.

And Saturn, for all that the Silence Glaive was an integral part of her own attacks, had never really wielded the Silence Glaive in that sense. As a bladed weapon, in close-quarter combat. It was a conduit for her own powers, a key to unlocking what lay dormant within her, an amplifier for her abilities.

She managed to block the first strike – or so Pluto allowed her to think, before she lashed out with a kick at Saturn's unprotected side and sent her flying.

"First lesson," Pluto said sternly, as Saturn pulled herself back up, clutching at her side. "Guard yourself properly. If you leave a part of yourself open, do so with the intent to protect it at an instant."

This time it was Saturn's turn to charge. She ran forth, feinted a blow towards Pluto's head, and then leapt back to avoid the counterstrike, Pluto's staff swinging up like an uppercut.

Unfortunately for her own head, Pluto followed up with a quick downward strike.

"You should always protect your head," Pluto added, while Saturn saw stars in her vision. "And other vital areas."

Saturn, naturally, learned those vital areas to protect as Pluto struck at them over and over for the next few days.

* * *

Presence hidden by the Segno Hell Ring, Acheron slipped into Namimori to check on how things were going. Granny was doing fine, the bloodline of Giotto was still living a normal life, and the descendant of Peleus was still a right terror, so unlike his ancestor.

In other words, Namimori was Namimori.

If only the same could be said of the rest of the world.

Ensuring that his wards were renewed, he made his way to Italy to meet up with one part of Sephira's legacy. It said a lot that his visits to the country were now made with the sole purpose of his job. No pleasure to be drawn from it, just business. How droll.

Especially with the company he was set to meet.

"This is unexpected," he said, feigning ignorance. One of the few amusements he had left in life was the reaction he stirred from people when he refused to give them an easy way of dealing with him. "I had thought I made it clear I had no desire to see your kind. Was I mistaken?"

Even if those in question didn't adhere very well to conventional societal norms.

The pair looked at him, eyes hidden by their masks. Always a pair, because the brain had two halves. Created by Sephira after she decided to split the stones further to make the rings, their job was to watch over the two minor parts that made up the Trinisette after Sephira died, and they carried out their duty religiously. It was literally their life's purpose.

"Due to the Sky Arcobaleno having been chosen from the blessed lineage," said the Cervello to the right. "The Mare Ring of the Sky has created a rightful bearer of its own. In a few years, he will awaken to his powers, and we will deliver him the ring."

He had 'chosen' the Sky Arcobaleno from Sephira's descendant over twenty years ago. Acheron didn't see why they had chosen to reach out to him now. "And?"

They exchanged glances. "The Vongola Ring of the Sky has actively chosen its next bearer, as well."

Yes, he had heard through his own devices just what had happened with the succession of the strongest mafia family. Fate worked in strange ways, trying to bring things all into a full circle.

Sephira had, after all, promised that young upstart Giotto.

But that, like most things, was hardly Acheron's concern. "And?"

They exchanged another glance, and Acheron barked out a harsh sound that might have passed as laughter.

"Do your jobs," he ordered. Technically, they were by no means under him, or under any obligation to listen to his orders. They had been created shortly after the rings for one purpose, and one purpose only.

But their creator had been Sephira, and so they could not help but worry about him.

Acheron didn't need or want their concern. He turned to leave, and the Cervello didn't try to stop him. "And I'll do mine."

Trips to Italy were always for business now. No pleasure in them, not anymore.

* * *

Sailor Venus met her on Magellan Castle with a grin so terrifying it nearly made Saturn flee to her own castle. She didn't, but it was a very close thing.

"Sailor Saturn!" she crooned, whip adorned with roses deceptively pretty against her slim waist. It was terrible how something so beautiful was so powerful.

The sword in her hand was by no means nearly as deceptive as the whip, but appearance didn't matter when both ended up putting her through training hell.

"I have to admit, I don't use a staff-based weapon like you," Venus admitted, after hours of intense combat where Saturn had everything thrown at her, from the whip, to the more basic form of the Love-Me-Chain, to the sword, to even the occasional boomerang thrown at her head. "So I'm just throwing what little I have at you."

Saturn hated that boomerang. It didn't matter if she dodged it the first time, it always came back, and hurt more the second time around.

Also, did she just say 'what little I have'? She would have been outraged, but her exhaustion was bone-deep. No, deeper. Her _soul_ would remember this exhaustion.

"But you're a walking _arsenal_ of other weapons," Saturn pointed out, voice tired even to her own ears.

Venus noted this, and her smile deepened. She didn't even _look_ tired. Somehow this was insulting to Saturn. If she regained her breath and the world stopped spinning, maybe she might realize just what part of Venus was insulting to her other than the unreasonable 'all of her', but her breath, much like an elusive sprite in a forest under a moonlit night, was impossible to catch.

"That I am," the leader of the inners agreed with too much cheer. Saturn considered whether or not 'all of her' was as unreasonable as she tried to tell herself, and found herself on the losing side of the argument. "And Pluto is covering your lessons with the staff. I'm just here to get you used to facing other close- and mid-range weapons."

The long-range weapons lessons were covered not by Venus, but Mars.

"Dodge," the Soldier of Passion and War had said simply, and with only three uses of the Silence Wall permitted for the entire session, Saturn was forced to run from the arrows of fire raining down on her. While she was 'permitted' to use the Silence Wall and protect herself, the five second after she pulled it down meant the barrage of fiery arrows _doubled_.

Once their game of one-sided dodgeball with real fire and consequences had made Mars satisfied of her dodging abilities, she moved on to letting Saturn try to attack her.

Key word being 'try', because high heels fit for an evening dress affair or not, Mars was quick on her feet and a fighter worthy of the title 'Soldier of War'.

Saturn learned that she hated being kicked by legs in heels. They were very pretty heels, and they hurt. A lot. They were weapons. Mars wore weapons on her feet, because of course she did.

"Dodge my flames, and try to take me out," she instructed. Because long-ranged attackers needed to be countered with the same, or the fight needed to be changed to close-quarters combat.

It was just too bad that Mars was good at both. Saturn continued to be burned and forced to heal herself.

* * *

Haru finally got the chance to meet up with Takeshi. She swore – to herself, silently, in her head – it wasn't because she felt bad that Hotaru was going to be attending Midori with her, while he went to Namimori. She also swore – again, to herself, and to no one else, like a secret she planned on taking to the grave – that she wasn't there to rub it in.

It was actually because he needed help with homework. Takeshi wasn't stupid, he was pretty smart when it came down to it. Haru had seen him solve questions with ease after Hotaru demonstrated a few examples.

It was just that he got distracted easily. Baseball, the love of his life, called loudly and Takeshi often couldn't resist the urge to go outside. Sitting still and focusing on studies was harder, without someone keeping him there because books and school subjects were just far less interesting to him.

That was what Hotaru said, and Haru tried to be the one holding him there. She wasn't as good at explaining things, but she could solve things slowly and explain to the best of her abilities why she did what she did, at least with the math questions.

"Negative numbers are easier if you think of them like money," she explained. "So for example, negative three is like saying you borrowed three hundred yen from me. Now you have three hundred yen to pay back to me, right?"

Takeshi frowned. "But I have the three hundred you lent me."

"Ignore that – focus on the money you owe me."

His frown deepened. "Then where does the money I borrowed go to?"

Haru opened her mouth to explain, before she realized that she didn't really know, either. And now _she_ was getting confused, which just wouldn't do.

Time to use a different example, then.

"Okay, never mind the money example," she said. "Think of negative numbers like floors under the ground."

Haru began sketching a tall building, and drew the horizontal ground to represent the ground.

"Positive numbers, the bigger they are, the higher they go, right?" she wrote down some numbers. "The bigger the number, the higher they are from the ground."

Then she drew the basement floors. "And the negative numbers are the opposite. The bigger the number, the lower they go."

Takeshi processed this and nodded. "Okay. So, the ones with the minus signs, the larger the number, the less value they have. But numbers without the minus signs, they just work like regular numbers."

Hotaru would have been so proud – of Takeshi, and her. Haru clapped her hands. "Exactly!"

Haru felt ridiculously proud of herself when Takeshi was able to use that building example to answer all the questions on his worksheet correctly.

* * *

Mercury and Neptune were the weakest soldiers of the inner and outer sailor soldiers, respectively. Mercury had always specialized as a strategist – brains, rather than brawn – and Neptune, by nature, preferred to play the role of support as the soldier of embrace.

That, of course, was just in comparison to the other, more battle-oriented sailors. At the end of the day, they _were_ still sailor soldiers, still incredibly capable and powerful in their own rights with their own strengths.

Mercury's drills were exhausting – both physically and mentally. She simulated battles using data from past enemies, and while they were still on 'easy mode' the diversity of methods needed to 'clear' the missions, so to speak, forced Hotaru to think more about just power behind her attacks.

"The Dark Kingdom specialized in harnessing the energies of human hearts," Mercury said quietly. The distant look in her eyes, the unreadable gaze she held after dispersing the simulation of the Shitennou made Saturn hold her tongue.

And her mission had been to defeat the possessed humans without evaporating their souls, merely the cause of their distortion, and tracking down the source.

"We can work on the simulations of the Death Busters," Saturn offered. She would not deny that the sight might be . . . less than pleasant, but still. There was a difference between 'brainwashed and forced to turn on their liege lord' and 'became obsessed with power and used even his daughter as a sacrifice'.

It snapped Mercury out of her funk. "We could," Mercury agreed. "But you still need to fight the demons a little better. Let's focus on your mental defenses first."

Saturn resisted cringing, but just barely.

But as challenging as Mercury made her drills, she was still better than Neptune.

"Have fun," the sailor soldier of the deep seas chirped as she waved.

Saturn couldn't respond. She was too busy trying to not drown in the terrifying oceans of Neptune.

The trials Sailor Neptune had for her were, as the soldier of embrace said herself, swimming lessons.

Swimming lessons, if they were given while in space, on the planet of the deep seas itself, with the sailor soldier of said planet having too much fun watching her suffer.

To make things more challenging, because clearly her suffering to keep her grip on the Silence Glaive while also raising her head above the surface of the water once a minute or so to replenish air meant Saturn was having an easy time with the task of staying afloat, Neptune, perched on a throne made of coral, brought out her violin and began to play. The oceans responded to the spell of music, and bore down on her harder like the waters had a will of their own.

Neptune didn't let her drown. Saturn did, however, come close to it several times.

* * *

Hotaru-chan, Happy Birthday! I'm so sad you couldn't come back home for your thirteenth birthday, but Haruka-san promised that she'd give you our gifts! I wanted to make you a Namahage costume but Takeshi suggested something else. He knew this one boy from baseball whose dad could print t-shirts!

We looked through our albums but couldn't find a really good picture, so we got astrology signs instead. Setsuna-san helped us get the sign for Capricorn for you, and then said we should have ones as well. Then Setsuna-san taught us how to tie-dye, so each of our shirts are unique. Yours is mostly purple because we dropped it into the purple dye by accident. It's still really pretty though so don't worry! It can be like friendship bracelets, but with t-shirts. We hope you like it! Takeshi's is mostly blue with purple and yellow, and mine's mostly green and pink, like a flower in spring.

Speaking of clothes, starting from our year, Midori is getting new uniforms! Did you get to see the new uniforms? Aren't they cute? Midori has the second-best uniforms in all the Namimori schools! Yumei's is cuter, but their school is also kind of stuffy. That's what the older girl living next to our house says. She went to Midori but she's graduating this year so we won't be in school with her.

Haruka-san said that you're getting a lot better, and that if everything goes well, you'll be able to come back next month! We should have a party then, to celebrate the birthday we missed and to welcome you back! Takeshi's dad says you're always welcome to the restaurant. He also says that Michiru-san has good taste in food. I think he says that because she says she likes the food there.

I really miss you, Hotaru-chan. It's just not the same without you. Takeshi keeps smiling but he looks less happy, and it's the same for me too. It's your birthday and I keep thinking that last year you were really sick, and then that means that in a few days it's been a whole year since I saw you last? I haven't seen you for a year! You said seven months!

I'm not mad at you or anything! I just really miss you! Please tell your doctor to hurry or he / she / they will have to deal with a girl dying to see her friend in Namimori!

Lots of love and stickers, Haru.

* * *

"I think you're close to holding your own," Uranus commented. It was terrible to hear that from her right now, because Uranus was facing her with her sword held in one hand.

While Saturn was barely deflecting each and every blow with both of her hands clutching at the Silence Glaive. None of its death-related powers would leak out, she wouldn't allow it, but it was still a weapon, allowing her to face of Uranus to a certain degree of limited success.

"Better with calculating the reach," Uranus continued, switching from slashes to stabs. Saturn adjusted her own defensive maneuvers, making sweeps to throw the sword off-course and away from her body. It was harder defending against stabbing attempts, but it was hard, _period_ , facing off against Uranus, so.

The soldier of flight bared her teeth in a grin that struck fear in Saturn's heart. "World Shaking!"

No warnings. No heads up. In this half of training, the sailor soldiers liked to bombard her with attacks suddenly, to see if she was on her toes.

After taking several attacks head-on due to not being able to react in time, Saturn was prepared. "Press Crusher!"

With a slash of her glaive, she released an energy wave that collided with the ringed sphere Uranus had thrown towards her. The resulting impact caused an explosion that threatened to throw her back.

Saturn let it. Through the smoke flew Uranus, charging towards where she had been just before.

"Silence Wall!"

"Space Sword Blaster!"

The paradox, of what happened when an unstoppable force met an immovable object, was often recounted with the tale of the two gods-blessed animals, the hound that never failed to catch its prey and the fox that never failed to elude its hunters.

In the myth, the gods, realizing this paradox, could not allow for the two graces to clash with each other, and forever made the results a tie by turning the two into static stars.

In reality, one or both would have to give – and as powerful as Uranus was, and as strong as her Talisman was, Saturn's Silence Wall was unbreakable. The barrier she erected held steady even as the blades wrought from the energy of the heavenly planet hammered against at it.

Saturn was ready to continue attacking, but Uranus seemed satisfied. She put the Space Sword away, in her own pocket dimension, and crossed her arms, a smile of triumph on her lips.

"You're ready," Uranus said.

"Are you sure?"

As soon as the words had left her mouth, Saturn regretted it. Uranus smirked, the curl of her lips wicked, and she barely held back the cringe.

"If you're up for more training, sure," drawled Uranus. "Great initiative, I'm proud of you, let's start with-"

"I mean, I'm sure your judgement is absolutely sound and perfect," Saturn interrupted, rude but out of necessity and desperation.

But, she had to ask. "Are you sure, though?"

Uranus let her smirk soften into a fond smile, and Saturn slowly loosened her tense shoulders. "I'm sure."

With a relieved exhale, Saturn relaxed fully. Her training wasn't done – it would never be done, really – but now she could return to a civilian life, live as Tomoe Hotaru.

See her friends again.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, both for deeming her ready, and for all the hard work she had put in training her into shape.

* * *

Takeshi had the advantage in leg length and experience in baseball, but Haru was no pushover when it came to running, and she had ecstasy fueling her drive. The two of them bolted down the streets of Namimori to the house, and almost comically skidded to a stop.

With very little patience leaving them almost vibrating on the spot, Takeshi – who was closer – pushed the doorbell.

The door opened two seconds later, and Hotaru beamed at them. Whatever the treatment and rehabilitation had done for her, Haru thought, it had worked. Hotaru looked so solid, so present. Her pale cheeks were slightly flushed, and her hair had been cut recently. She looked healthy.

"Haru! Takeshi!" she cried out, throwing her arms around their necks.

"Hotaru!"

She was back. Everything in the world felt right again.

* * *

AN: Finally, we can get started on KHR. This would have been stretched out over a few chapters, but it was all crammed into one because I'm a very impatient person.

The Sailor Power Guardians are fairy lookalikes of the sailor scouts that appeared in the Dream Arc.

Makaria is a goddess of death whose name means 'blessed', and given Sailor Saturn's job as someone who brings the necessary death / destruction it was perfect. It's also the name of a daughter of Hercules who voluntarily dies as a sacrifice to ensure victory for the city she's in, as well as keeping others safe. Both fit so well it just had to be Hotaru's name from the SilMil.

Sweet Dreams~


	16. Daily Life I

"I swear," grumbled Granny, in the disgruntled way she did so well when she was angry-caring about someone or something. In the time Hotaru had lived with her, she had observed and found that in about ninety-five percent of times Granny used that tone, she used it in relation to Kawahira.

This time was no exception. "I'm going to give Riku a piece of my mind when he gets back from wherever he's wandered off to this time."

Hotaru cringed lightly. She hadn't seen Kawahira since the day her powers had returned, and Granny said that he hadn't come back since February, when Hotaru had returned to Namimori.

It really had been a goodbye, that day, when her powers returned.

Obfuscating, Helios had called him. Hotaru let her shoulders slump in disappointment at yet another failed attempt at meeting him. Over the years she had grown used to his presence, subtle but undeniably _there_ like mist, and while she had found Helios to be correct on his description of his fellow guardian, there had also been a kinship, a connection.

But all things came to an end, Hotaru thought morosely. Good or bad, eventually there was an end. Third time had _not_ been the charm.

"I'll take a wooden spoon to his thick head," promised Granny when she saw how dejected Hotaru was. "I'll tie him up if I have to, and not feed him any ramen while I do that."

Hotaru shrugged and forced a cheery smile onto her face. "It's okay, Granny. It's just bad timing on my part. I'm sure I'll run into him eventually."

"Hmph." Granny, with how well she knew both her grandson and Hotaru, was unconvinced, but she let it go at the unsaid request. "You forget about my lazy grandson and focus on school. I know you're smart, but you should still work hard."

Hotaru nodded. That had been the plan. Middle school was a challenge as much as it was a gift.

It wasn't that the material was hard – even if Midori Middle happened to be one of the 'elite' schools in Namimori, she was still ahead of the syllabus – but more to do with the unfamiliar environment and the population. Her years in Namimori had been spent quietly, peacefully, with social interactions limited to a handful of people.

Middle school was, for all that it was a private middle school for girls, still bigger and had more people than she was used to. If Haru hadn't been there at her side, practically vibrating with double her usual enthusiasm, Hotaru knew she would have shrunk back into herself.

Like she was doing now.

"The music club has more than enough people," Haruno Sora, the third-year student and head of the history club, had a firm grip on Hotaru's left arm. It wasn't painful, but it could become so soon enough, much like how the senior student's voice was deliberately calm but ready to rise in volume if necessary.

The other third-year student, who had introduced herself as Komachi Mirai, scoffed and tightened her grip on Hotaru's right arm. "Did you or did you not hear her play the violin just now?"

Two older students were fighting over her, because both of them wanted her in their respective clubs. Somehow even the normal part of her life ended up being spectacular, Hotaru thought ruefully.

All she had wanted to do was actually get a chance to join a club. During her days at Mugen Academy she had never had the chance to partake in club activities due to the attacks of pain from the bloodless robotic limbs grafted to her back then, and she had been looking forward to it. It was the one part of school she wouldn't do with Haru, since she was going to be in the gymnastics club and Hotaru didn't have much of a desire to brave more physical exercise than she needed to, even for Haru. She was considering the music club, but when she heard there was a history club, she just had to ask about it.

But unknown to her, one thing had led to another during orientation to Midori's clubs, and Haru – who, with her signature friendliness, had somehow made at least three friends – had ended up telling Komachi about Hotaru playing the violin.

Komachi insisted she play then and there – with her own violin, at that – and Hotaru, who had been in the middle of asking Haruno questions about the history club, had obliged.

Somehow that had ended up putting her in this situation.

"Violinists are a dime a dozen," Haruno said stiffly. "I know you have at least three violin players in your club, Komachi. The history club needs more students."

"Why study the past and remain caught up in the deeds of the dead when you can forge your own history, make a name for yourself in the future?" Komachi shot back. "In the field of music, at that."

Hotaru quietly resigned herself to becoming the rope in a tug-of-war game as she considered it. The history club, which had five members, six if she entered, and the music club, which had far more members.

"Hotaru-chan?" Haru, arguably the reason why she was in this mess, was done with signing up for gymnastics. She turned and found Hotaru in the grasps of two older students. Her jaw surrendered to the pull of gravity at the sight. "Hahi?!"

Hotaru didn't blame Haru for her reaction. For all that they were maintaining their manners and decorum, Hotaru could almost see the spirits of two clashing beasts ferociously fighting for dominance over the heads of the two senior students. A dragon and a tiger, perhaps. That would certainly fit their fighting spirits quite well.

They were only _third-year junior high students_. Namimori was truly misnamed.

But Haru was many things, and one of the strongest components happened to be bravery. She darted towards Hotaru, and did her best to avert her eyes from the two seniors all but snarling at each other in spirit.

"Which club are you signing up for?" Haru asked, a little too loudly, trying to distract everyone, especially the two students that looked ready to go to war at the slightest push.

Hotaru gave both heads of the clubs she had been considering a baleful look. It was true she had considered the music club, because she liked playing the violin, but that was because it had been Michiru who taught her how to coax melodies from the strings, how to bring forth combinations to create different chords, and how to read the notes and translate it into a language that needed no words to move the heart.

She liked the violin, of that there was no doubt, and yet when she learned there was a history club . . .

"What history does the club cover?" Hotaru asked.

Haruno Sora's face came alive with genuine emotion at that question, and not just because the student she was fighting over was asking about her club.

"World history," she replied immediately, words fiery and well-polished in the way only true belief and dedication could make them. "Japanese history is covered pretty well in class, and if there's homework or a test, we'll focus on it too, but I started this club when I realized that the curriculum doesn't really cover the rest of the world very well."

She blushed a little when Hotaru stared, engaged, but that didn't stop her from continuing. "People say that studying history is important to not repeat the past, but that also applies for a narrow vision. If we don't want to narrow our points of views, we have to be able to consider things from another perspective – and if we grow too used to looking at only one version of the story, we can't do that very well."

That decided it for her, and from the resigned sigh that Komachi Mirai released along with her grip on Hotaru's arm, the head of the music club knew it, too.

"Sorry, Komachi-senpai," Hotaru apologized, and Haruno Sora beamed.

The older girl waved it off coolly, accepting defeat graciously. "Nah, it's your choice at the end. I've got to respect that. Haruno – take good care of her, or I'll steal her."

"You don't have to worry about that," Haruno replied seriously.

Hotaru thought that it was a bit dramatic, all things considered, but both of her senpais ended up being good people, so that was a relief.

And with that, the middle school experience truly began. School, club activities, regular trips to Titan Castle to monitor the solar system's outer rims, visiting Granny and so on. The small incident with the club turned out to be the most interesting thing she experienced, because from then on, her life settled into a mostly steady routine with no significant outliers.

An unfortunate side effect of this was that she got to see Takeshi far less often than she would have liked. Despite Midori being in walking distance of Namimori Middle, he often ended up being busy with the baseball club. She no longer lived in the shopping district, which meant TakeSushi was farther than before. She had more things to be doing, which meant she could no longer be there for him according to his schedule like she had before.

"Baseball in middle school is a lot more fun," Takeshi said, unable to suppress the happy grin on his face. Three weeks after school had started, and this was the first time they really got to hang out.

Hotaru, for all the years she had been his friend, still didn't know much about baseball. She knew the rules, the basic ones, and the positions, but she only really knew about the game through Takeshi. She had no passion, no direct interest herself. Much like her 'interest' in gymnastics, it was only because someone she cared about liked it with a passion as bright as the sun.

She still remembered what it was like, trying to catch the balls he threw. The only reason she hadn't given up after the first time she was nearly decapitated by a weaponized baseball was because he had looked so happy when she showed some interest.

A thought struck Hotaru.

"Are there people on your team that can actually catch the balls you throw?" she asked. Forget needing sailor soldiers to fight off alien invaders, if there were a few more of Takeshi in this world, they could probably just throw baseballs at the heads of invaders and be done with it.

"The third-years can," he said. "And the second-years can hit it, too. But the rest tell me I have to tone it down a little." He looked genuinely confused as to why he might be told this.

That made Hotaru feel a little better about her record of 'zero' for all the times she had actually managed to catch his throws mid-air.

She couldn't imagine anyone having the strength, the reaction time, or just the _nerve_ to catch, let alone hit a ball like the kind Takeshi threw, unless she counted Haruka or Makoto. It gave her idea of using the Namimori baseball team as Earth's defense a little more weight.

"What _monsters_ attend your school?" she had to ask.

Takeshi laughed. "Well, we have Hibari."

Hotaru covered her mouth at the familiar name. "Oh my gosh, no."

"Yeah." He grinned, like having a boy that had been terrorizing Namimori since he was young at his school was a thing to be happy about. "We have a disciplinary committee that he runs, and they can be pretty intimidating, but the seniors say that it keeps other schools from picking on our students."

"What other schools?" Hotaru had to ask. Surely not Midori or Yumei Private. Maybe the high schools?

"Kokuyo."

Oh, the school with a lot of delinquent students. The one Haruka had looked into _just_ to make sure it was out of the way and warned her about with pictures of their uniforms.

"And high schools," Takeshi added. "Less fights, too."

It was like an entirely different world, what he described. Namimori Middle definitely sounded nothing like Midori, or Mugen. And Mugen had been a school with _actual_ monsters plotting world domination living in its depths.

But Takeshi sounded happy enough with the school. He got along with the baseball team, even if he didn't consider them to be 'friends', and slept through most of the classes.

That was clear when she looked over his homework and previous tests the next time they met. After doing a double-take at his confession – that he didn't really remember much of class because he slept through most of it – she had told him to bring his homework the next time they met.

What Hotaru saw worried her, a lot – even if the actual owner of the homework didn't seem half as concerned as she was.

"Seriously!" she protested over his homework while he laughed. "What if you can't play because of poor grades?"

"It's not _that_ bad, is it?" Takeshi shrugged.

Hotaru chose not to answer, which was a reply in itself. Instead she went over the sections in his textbook, skimming content to check just what needed to be covered. They didn't have enough time together to go over all of it, so she just made note of it.

"I'll make you study notes," she promised. She had to leave soon, her shift on Titan Castle was coming up. They had sent a message to the Starlights, and were still hoping to receive a reply. Not just from Princess Kakyuu's home planet but from _anyone_ , revived by Sailor Cosmos at the Cauldron. Given that it had been years, it shouldn't have been a stretch to assume other sailor soldiers were also revived by now.

Takeshi winced. "Isn't that too much work?"

"I can just photocopy mine," Hotaru said, and it wasn't a lie, not really. She didn't need notes, per say, not when she had long passed the level taught in middle school while on her own, but she didn't want to be complacent or develop bad habits so she made them for her classes nonetheless.

The ones she would be making for Takeshi would have to be more detailed. Takeshi didn't do well in classroom settings, but he did pretty well when it was one-on-one. Since she didn't see him as much, notes would have to do. Hotaru could just write them up while she was on Saturn for shift. There was only so much of exploring Titan Castle she could do before she grew bored, and Makaria would enjoy seeing what the curriculum was like for an average middle school student. "It's really not much work."

He sighed and grinned in relief. "Thanks. I guess I'm just useless at everything except baseball."

Now he was just being ridiculous.

"And I'm useless at everything except studying?" Hotaru asked, eyebrow raised.

"That's different," Takeshi said immediately.

"It's really not." Hotaru lightly flicked his forehead, 'punishment' for being silly. Of course there was more to him than baseball. That wasn't why she had become friends with him, now was it? "I'll be there when you have a game, okay? Just let me know the date in advance. I'll bring food and sports drinks and a sign with your name and everything."

She'd also ask Haruka what athletes needed after exertion to better recover.

His reply to that was a beaming smile.

Hotaru really thought everything was fine, until she received news that Takeshi had tried to kill himself and realized that she had been very wrong.

* * *

AN: OC names and appearances are just from the Vocaloids Haruno Sora and Komachi Mirai. They're not important, you don't need to pay attention to them. I just needed names.

TL;DR

Hotaru: it's peaceful at Midori.

Midori: *an all girls' school* *Mean Girls going on in the background* *drama DRAMA*

Hotaru: *oblivious to it all because she doesn't care* Nice and quiet.

Sweet Dreams~


	17. Daily Life II

By the time school finally ended, Haru was ready to storm Namimori Middle. Never mind that she had gymnastics practice, she had a friend to yell at for being stupid, because _how could he?_

Her plans were stopped by her other best friend, the one that had been just as nervous as Haru through classes since morning when the gossip hit.

"Don't skip your club activities," said Hotaru grimly.

Haru turned to protest – and cowered when she saw the look on Hotaru's face, the fire of her righteous wrath extinguished abruptly. Suddenly she felt a little less angry towards Takeshi, and pity took its place because she was fairly sure he was going to die today after all.

Hotaru noticed her reaction, and tried to smile. It came out more as a grimace. "Sorry. Just . . . don't skip gymnastics. I'll go yell at him first, and then you can come join me."

She only listened to Hotaru, Haru said to herself later, as her mind kept wandering from her routines. Because she had never seen Hotaru that furious and she didn't want to end up having to face even a part of that anger herself.

But, Haru added in her mind. She was still going to go over as soon as club activities were done so she could yell at Takeshi, and then give him a hug and thank him for being alive.

* * *

It was funny how one event could . . . just _change_ him like it had.

Lying on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling of his room, Takeshi replayed the events on the school roof in his head – the one that had ended in his dramatic rescue. Tsuna really was _something_ , no matter what self-deprecating words he said.

He was right, though. If he was going to die because of something, then he should use that energy – that _dying will_ , that phrase struck something in him – to live for it.

"Takeshi," came a gruff shout. His father had been horrified, relieved, and furious, in that order, when the school called. It was explained as a joke that was taken too seriously, no harm, no foul, and for the most part the teachers and the school had accepted that, beyond relieved that a student had not taken his life at the school.

His father had not, and Takeshi was grounded. Truth be told, he did deserve it, because his father had spoken with suppressed tears and emotions, asking Takeshi what he was supposed to do if his son died before he did.

And it had made Takeshi realize just how _selfish_ he had been, to make his dad go through the process of standing in white at another funeral, this time with no one at his side to support him if he needed to grieve.

Takeshi accepted the punishment, because he deserved it. But there was one person his old man would let in to see him, even when he was grounded.

"Hotaru's here."

He winced, because there were a lot of ways that Hotaru might react to the news, and none of them were good in any sense of the word.

His guess was proven correct when she opened the door without even knocking.

"Did you cry?" he blurted out, any and all excuses completely wiped from his mind at the sight that greeted him. Hotaru was always pale, and that meant anytime something happened – like a blush – it was very visible.

In this case, the red rimming her eyes was a clear mark.

Hotaru's face twisted, and her eyes filled with tears. " _Yes_ , you idiot!"

Takeshi stared, because Hotaru didn't yell, not like this. Sometimes she shrieked out of surprise or excitement, and she did raise her voice when they needed to shout at each other to communicate across distance, but yell? Because she had lost her calm and gotten emotional?

This was a time of seeing new aspects of people around him.

Her hands rose, as if she wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until she was exhausted, but hesitated at the cast.

What she couldn't do with actions, Hotaru made up with words.

"I heard from a classmate that there was a – a student on the roof, over at Namimori Middle, about to jump because of an injury, and I was worried because that's your school, but then I hear that it's someone on the _baseball_ team, and then she said your _name_ , and do you have any idea how much I panicked? I didn't even _know_ you were injured, and then someone said it was a joke except that was _your_ name I heard, and there weren't any more news coming so I thought the worst, and my teacher wouldn't let me leave early so the entire day I just thought, the last thing I talked about with my best friend was about some stupid _homework_ or grades instead of _helping_ him like I should have!"

Takeshi stared as she _ranted_. When her words began to grow distraught and blurred together with tears, though, he panicked, because Hotaru was _crying_. Hotaru had _never_ cried around him, not even when she collapsed and coughed up blood, and he had somehow grown to believe she would never cry.

A day of Takeshi being really, _really_ wrong about things, too.

"Don't cry?" he nearly begged.

That backfired on him tremendously when she buried her face into her hands, trying to stifle the quiet sobs she broke out into. Feeling like he was the worst criminal in the world, Takeshi went through a hell of his own making while Hotaru kept crying.

* * *

After what felt like hours of guilt on his part, Hotaru eventually stopped and excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she returned, her eyes were still red-rimmed, but they were dry and focused on him.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, now calmed down. "I should have asked about how you felt, not . . . yelled at you."

Takeshi disagreed. "I think I kind of deserved that."

Plus, it was . . . an _experience_ , seeing Hotaru lose her usual composure like that. And reassuring, weird as it might have sounded. That she cared about him enough to be so emotionally affected.

"Can I ask why?" she asked.

Takeshi wanted to squirm, because it was something that made him feel ashamed, but he did owe it to Hotaru to tell her the truth, after making her cry.

"It's really stupid," he said, feeling heat crawl up his neck.

Middle school had been a change for Takeshi.

The good thing about middle school was, of course, baseball. The second and third years gave him a challenge he hadn't really had in elementary. It was more serious now, and the challenge he was given made his heart pound in the good way. It made him feel _alive_. Pushed to become better.

And that was important, because the rest of his life was beginning to fade in brightness.

A lot of people said he was a cheerful person. They said so because he smiled and laughed a lot, and he looked carefree.

In a way he was. He didn't care all that much for a lot of things, just what he liked. There were few bright spots of color in a world that was otherwise grey for Takeshi. His old man. Hotaru. Haru. Baseball.

His dad was busy, ever since Mom had passed away, trying to pull the weight of two people on his own. He tried his best, Takeshi knew, but the lack of his mom meant that he had to be mature. He had to grow up, so he wouldn't be a burden to his dad.

Haru and Hotaru were still his friends – the only ones he could really call his friends, in the real definition of the word – but they were attending Midori. They were also girls, and smart, and talented in more than one area which meant that sometimes he felt a little left out.

Middle school starting meant he got less time to spend with them. Hotaru was also in school now, which mean their schedules often didn't meet up. She was busy with club activities and studying and homework. Ever since school had started, Takeshi had spent time with her exactly twice.

So baseball was really a blessing in that sense. It kept him from being alone. It meant he could still be social with people, still enjoy something in life, _do_ something that made him feel alive.

It wasn't the same, with teammates. There was a sense of camaraderie, but it wasn't close or as soothing as spending time with Haru and Hotaru was. It wasn't as important – in fact, it was only done because he knew he had to get along with people, and because teamwork was important in baseball. They didn't see him under the surface he put up. Didn't know him as he was, didn't look closer.

But that was fine, he thought, because he saw them as fellow students, teammates that helped him appreciate the sheer, elating joy that baseball brought him. He couldn't play baseball alone, now could he?

When Takeshi first heard about Tsuna – Sawada Tsunayoshi – in his class confessing to the school idol Sasagawa Kyoko in nothing but his underwear, Takeshi filed it away as something to share with Hotaru and Haru. Stories of what happened in schools with both boys and girls. Maybe they'd tell him about the crazy things that happened in an all-girls' school. What crazy things happened there?

But the whole thing had given Tsuna cred at school. He was no longer the 'Dame-Tsuna' that people made fun of. Some students were scared of him, and others thought he was cool.

Takeshi was probably one of the latter. He had stood up against a second-year for the sake of someone else. That was respectable. Just like how it was kind of cool, when he and that new transfer guy stood up against Nezu. That man hadn't had half the skills or patience Hotaru did, and when the news of him being a fraud got out, Takeshi thought it made a lot of sense.

At the same time, though, he was more focused on how he wasn't improving. There was a challenge, yes, but baseball felt like it was blocked. Like he had hit a wall he just couldn't pass.

And that was a problem, because baseball was something Takeshi could say for certain he was good at. Something that let him be _special_.

Haru was bright, and cheerful, and genuinely a social person. She was truly extroverted, and she could easily give genuine affection in a way that Takeshi just . . . couldn't. It was a part of why he had grown to accept her as a friend, because she didn't do things halfway and wasn't the kind who gave _expecting_ something in return. That had been obvious from the start.

That, and Hotaru had been the one to introduce them.

Despite Haru's natural brightness, though, Takeshi had also been a little jealous of her. He had known Hotaru longer, but at times it had felt like Haru was closer to her because she was a girl. It had felt a little worse, when Hotaru wrote to tell him and Haru that she was going to be attending Midori.

Like somehow, the differences had been more pronounced. Not just 'she's a girl and he's a boy' kind of difference, but the difference in who they were.

Takeshi, a boy with no real talents other than baseball. Haru, a girl that could really like and be liked by other people, who was smart and funny and weird, but in the good way. Hotaru, a girl who was good at everything – studying, music, reading, everything.

And wasn't it obvious, in _how_ they had become friends, that Takeshi didn't belong? Haru and Hotaru had met, and clicked, becoming fast friends. Takeshi and Hotaru had become friends after his mom's funeral.

His friends were great people, but he had always felt a little inadequate next to them, like he had to catch up. Baseball was his specialty, his passion, his field of expertise.

"It was just _my_ thing," he said slowly. "Mine. It was what I was good at, and that was what made me special."

He pushed against the wall, trying to break past it. He ended up breaking himself instead.

When his arm broke and he was told he couldn't play, possibly for the rest of his life, Takeshi had felt useless.

"I wasn't going to jump," he tried to defend himself at the look on Hotaru's face, almost wax-like in quality now. She was holding something back, and he couldn't read it, so he tried to mitigate it before it identified itself as anger. "Really. I just . . ."

He had gone to school, the day after the accident, and the members of the baseball club, some of his seniors, had somehow found out and were offering their condolences.

But Takeshi had seen the light of mockery and jealousy and relief in their eyes, felt their insincerity, and something in him had snapped.

The next thing he knew, he had been on the roof, looking down and thinking of how many more bones in his body would break if he just took one extra step. No one had come close, scared, maybe, that they would be blamed if he did end up jumping. An invisible line keeping them from coming closer.

He probably wouldn't have jumped. But at the time he had inwardly sneered, that no one was even going to try and stop him.

No on there was his friend, anyways, so he didn't expect anyone to really stop him.

Except someone had.

One of the idioms Hotaru had explained for him in the past was 'fair-weather friends' – those that left when the going got tough.

Tsuna had proven himself to be the furthest thing from a fair-weather friend. What kind of a person just . . . risked his life for someone he didn't know all that well? For someone who had said harsh things, like acid, and pulled him off the roof with him?

Tsuna, apparently.

"I wasn't going to jump," he said lamely. "But I accidentally pulled Tsuna, and the fence broke, and, um, Tsuna saved me before I got hurt."

It was, all things considered, the truth, but the explanation also lacked a lot of detail and the two of them knew it. Hotaru eyed him suspiciously, but that was his story and he was sticking to it.

"Sorry for making you worry," he added, trying to appease her.

For the longest moment of his life, she just stared at Takeshi, eyes scrutinizing and making him squirm in fear.

Then, she sighed, sounding like she was releasing the weight of the world with her breath. "Did you know I don't care all that much for baseball?"

Takeshi blinked at the sudden change in topic. "What?"

"I don't really care about baseball," Hotaru rephrased. "It's a sport. It involves running, and two teams fighting over a tiny ball and sliding across dirt. It's hard for me to like it."

When she phrased it like that, it sounded hard to like.

"The only reason I even care about baseball, and know the positions, the rules, the terms," Hotaru said slowly, like she was trying to explain something to him, the way she did about how the sky was blue, or what the question about the literature assignment was _really_ asking. "Is because _you_ liked it."

She held his gaze while that sank in. It was a good thing she gave him a moment, because he needed that time.

"I don't consider you my friend because of something like pity, or a sport I don't even play or watch anyone else play, Takeshi. Baseball was just a sport to me, until my friend liked to play it. That's all it ever meant to me. It could have been soccer you played, or basketball, or football, and it would have still only been that."

Embarrassed, he let his eyes drop, but Hotaru wasn't done.

"I liked watching you play baseball because you always looked so happy while playing," she murmured, anger of any kind burnt out of her voice. "If you like baseball enough to die for it, then you should live for it, instead."

Takeshi laughed quietly, a little relieved now that his dumb worries had been thoroughly appeased. "Is that a quote?"

"Not that I know of," she said dryly. "It's actually just common sense."

Maybe not so burnt out. He winced, because okay, maybe he deserved that too.

"Well, I guess I'm going to have to find something else to live for," Takeshi decided, looking down at his casted arm. "The doctor says I can't play baseball anymore."

He'd live, Takeshi figured, for the people he cared about. His Pops, who had probably lost about ten years from his life thanks to his rashness. Haru, who was still his friend despite his own personal jealousy. Hotaru, because she had just cleared away a lot of his insecurities and reassured him of their friendship together.

And Tsuna.

If he had to choose baseball and those people, Takeshi thought, a scale in his mind tipping to one side, it became obvious which was far more important.

Hotaru frowned, and Takeshi watched as his oldest friend struggled with words. Her eyes went from his arm, to his face, back to his arms, before she came to a decision by herself.

"I'm about to tell you a secret," she said at last, before amending her words. "Well, _show_ you a secret. But you can't tell anyone else."

A secret? The change in subject threw him off.

" _Promise_ me," Hotaru pleaded.

"Okay," he answered, feeling a little distracted, because even if she hadn't made him promise he wouldn't have told anyone. Her eyes, though, were urgent, and Takeshi knew this was serious. Whatever 'it' was. "I won't tell anyone."

A bit of the tension in her shoulders left, but she was still nervous. Hotaru took a deep breath, and slowly extended both her hands to rest gently on his broken arm.

"It shouldn't hurt," she mumbled, without much confidence. "Stay still, okay?"

Takeshi opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say died on his tongue when a soft white light began to glow from where she put her hands on him.

She was right. It didn't hurt. But maybe because he was a little – a lot – distracted, gawking at what was happening.

"It's just something I've been able to do since I was young," she said quietly. Little flicks of light rose up from his arm, like dust particles moved by a current, before fading into nothing. "I couldn't use it while I was – sick, but I got it back recently. It should be enough to let you play baseball again."

 _Like fireflies_ , Takeshi thought, awed as he watched the lights slowly drift upwards, away from his broken arm like they were flying off with his wound.

His arm felt warm. Not uncomfortably so, but – warm, in the good way. Like a hot drink on a cold day, or a shower after a baseball game to wash away the sweat. Relaxing. Soothing. Restoring.

A minute later, the light faded away, and Hotaru let her hands drop to her sides. She bit her lip, uncertainty and vulnerability flickering over her face. It was a secret he hadn't even been aware of her having, would never have suspected. It was a secret Hotaru didn't need to reveal to him.

But she had. Not just because of his arm, but because it was an offering, a baring of a weakness of sorts. Giving him a piece of her she had guarded well over the years, just to let him know he was worth it. That she trusted him with this part of her.

He poked at his arm. The cast got in the way. Right.

He tried raising his arm. No pain. No difficulties.

As if his arm wasn't broken.

Hotaru had somehow healed his arm. The arm the doctor had said would be impossible to play baseball with.

His insecurities were banished, he had a new friend – an actual friend – and his arm was fine. It was like magic.

Something burst in his heart, and Takeshi swept up Hotaru in a crushing hug. Now their roles were reversed, and he was the one crying while she tried to tell him that it was okay.

"I'll fix you up," she mumbled, running a hand down his back over and over again, tracing a soothing path. "If you ever hurt yourself playing baseball again, that's fine, I can fix it, as long as you haven't – lost something, okay?"

There was a choking sound. It was from him.

Hotaru sighed and continued to pat his back, as if engraving that soft rhythm of comfort into him. "Just – don't do that again. Don't _ever_ do that again."

Takeshi nodded, because when he tried to speak all he could make were those choking sounds.

They stayed like that until Haru arrived, and he was punished in the form of yet another crying girl yelling at him that of course he was more important than baseball, did he want her chasing after him in a costume carrying a sign proclaiming the obvious to everyone, how could he think they wouldn't miss him, and did he know how worried they were.

For all that had happened, Takeshi thought to himself when Haru finally ran out of steam and hugged him as well. It had been a pretty great day.

* * *

AN: Updating early because I play Fire Emblem Heroes and there's a new banner and I usually have better luck when I update a fic before summoning.

Because this is a chapter entirely in Takeshi's POV here's some TL;DR from Hotaru's.

Hotaru: *once would have died to bring a new age, now lives because her princess and queen would prefer that her loved ones live for her instead of dying for her* if you love something enough to die for it, then live for it instead.

Takeshi: That's so deep. But, well, I guess I'm not going to be living for baseball anytime soon now.

Hotaru: hold my tea.

.

Hotaru: (what if he thinks this is creepy, what if he hates me, what if-)

Takeshi: ｡･ﾟ･(*ﾉД`*)･ﾟ･。(((Bear hug to end all bear hugs)))

Hotaru: (never mind, then). *deeply relieved*

Sweet Dreams~


	18. Daily Life III

The Starlights and Princess Kakyuu finally sent back a reply to their message, much to the relief of Usagi.

After the cheer that came from the news of their revival and return to their home planets, though, came a grimmer mood with additional information attached.

"There's been a lot of tension throughout the universe," Sailor Pluto summarized, quite aptly. Bad blood that had predated Sailor Galaxia between planets, and then the issue of Sailor Galaxia herself. Some sailors, still furious, wanted revenge against the soldier of destruction and conquest. Shadow Galactica had, after all, destroyed entire planets. Others, with conflict that had been abruptly cut off with Shadow Galactica's arrival, were beginning to reignite old feuds.

Not all, Princess Kakyuu had said. But some planets had gone back to their old ways, using their second chance at life to continue their past.

Usagi was sad, that there would be more conflict, but she understood. It was not her place to tell others to forgive and forget, nor was it her place to forgive the sins of others in the stead of the victims. Galaxia may have repented near the end, but it did not erase what she had done, or make the pain she had caused disappear. Neither was it her place, to order them to forget longstanding disputes.

Sailor Neptune clapped to clear the air. "But that," she said firmly. "Is not something we need to be concerned with."

The Sailor Starlights – and perhaps some other sailor soldiers that had been revived – would eventually come to visit to give their thanks, when they had time. If Sailor Moon could help in some way to lead to a more peaceful outcome, great.

If not . . .

Saturn let her eyes trail over the pole of the Silence Glaive. Forged out of a pitch-black metal that had no luster, it was made to be the best conduit and amplifier of her powers. The ideal weapon for her.

If not? Saturn knew the answer. Then they protected the solar system and their princess. It was simple.

Today, her training was overseen by Venus, at Magellan Castle. Saturn arrived early, and was greeted by the fairy of Venus.

"She's in the Mirror Hall," said Harmonia, after enthusiastically welcoming her. Saturn followed her, and found the leader of the inner sailors staring at the mirrors, reflecting not her own image but something not in the castle. People Saturn did not recognize, places that were both foreign and familiar.

The Silver Millennium, and the Kingdom on the Moon.

"Should I come back?" Saturn asked. The murals hadn't been there before, and the wistful expression on the blonde woman's countenance made it clear it was more than just redecorating going on.

Sailor Venus looked back. "Hm? No, this is just memories."

She waved a gloved hand, and the scenes changed. The inner sailor soldiers, around Princess Serenity in the court on the moon during their past lives. Magellan Castle, back when there had been more than just one remaining Venusian living in its halls. Princess Venus running down the halls, laughing as carefree as could be while handmaidens chased after her.

The face of a handsome man with long silver hair, in the clothes of a general, with more than a cape resting on his shoulders. Dark invaders from Terra, possessed by an agent of Chaos.

"I've just been trying to remember," Sailor Venus explained despite Saturn's silence. "We all have."

Not just for Mamoru's sake, because their lives hadn't overlapped much, but for theirs. It was the past, but it was _their_ past.

"I haven't remembered all of my past life," Venus mused. "Just some. And the castle felt too empty, even with Harmonia, so I just put it here."

Saturn averted her eyes when she saw Sailor Venus, much younger and in a uniform slightly different from her current form, holding onto the hand of a blond man hanging from a cliff. It was an extremely personal memory, that much was obvious from the glimpse she caught before she turned.

A younger Sailor Venus, crying out with pain and despair mingling equally in her eyes as the man slipped out of her grip, words condemning her to never choose love over duty.

Venus clapped her hands, to clear the air. "Just some nostalgia," she said brightly, and if Saturn didn't know better, she would have thought that the blonde woman was truly unbothered. "But enough of the past. Are you ready to work it?"

Saturn felt far less complicated at the unintentional threat. "Yes?"

Sailor Venus wasn't distracted during the training session, and Saturn didn't have the luxury of dwelling on what she had seen while trying to defend herself against the barrage of attacks.

But Sailor Venus also believed in teaching how to fight both strong and _smart_ , and she was by no means above playing dirty.

"You don't have to feel sorry for me," she said.

It distracted Saturn, just as intended, and Venus lunged. Next thing she knew, Saturn was staring up at the ceiling of Magellan Castle's training room. Beautiful, really, but the sight of the ceiling, a golden metal streaked with amber and platinum veins, wasn't exactly pleasing to her in these circumstances. Venus had swept her legs out with the flat side of her blade while aiming a kick at her face, and while Saturn had dodged the latter, she hadn't seen the sword.

"I don't," Saturn said, after catching the breath she had lost during the ignoble fall. She didn't, because she knew Venus was stronger than that. She couldn't possibly feel sorry for Venus. She could respect her, she could empathize with the pain she must have felt, she could understand choosing duty over all else, but Saturn couldn't – _wouldn't_ – feel sorry for Venus.

To do that did dishonor to Venus and everything she had done, everything she _could_ do.

Venus smiled with approval. "I didn't have Harmonia stop you because I wanted you to see."

That explained it, Saturn thought grimly as Venus threw a boomerang. She hated that boomerang, truly. Harmonia would not have done anything that could cause Sailor Venus harm, be it physical or emotional. She certainly wouldn't have let Saturn intrude, even by accident, on a private moment if Venus hadn't given her approval.

"Pluto told me that one of your friends now knows about your ability to heal."

Hotaru tensed. Her parents had simply said they trusted her judgement, and so far Takeshi had told no one. She didn't think he ever would, out of his own volition.

The sight of her stiffness made Venus smirk and fire a Rolling Heart Vibration to make her dodge.

"I'm not saying that to chastise you," she assured Saturn. "Honestly, back when I was working alone, I got my identity discovered by the Superintendent-General of the Metropolitan Police Board."

That was quite the jump, she had to admit, and a far more serious person in a more threatening position to deal with. Saturn returned fire with a Press Crusher that Venus sidestepped easily. "How did that go?"

Venus shrugged. "She was a fan of me, so pretty well, to be honest. We became good friends. She wanted to have me work in the police force, but now I just do commercials for the police force instead. It helps with their image and recruiting process."

Having a top movie star and super model in commercials _would_ do that, Saturn thought.

"Actually, a lot of people around us know," Venus continued. "Motoki and his sister, and their significant others – they found out separately," she added. "Reika-san learned through Setsuna, and Ittou overheard Luna talking and confronted Makoto about it before we even met you."

The blonde woman went on to list off all the civilians they knew of that were aware of their identities. Usagi's family. Umino Gurio and Naru. Rei's grandfather.

It was supposed to make her feel better, Saturn knew, but each name felt more like a weight on her conscience.

"Think of it as an opportunity instead," suggested Sailor Venus, pragmatic as the leader of the inner soldiers. "I know Haruka lets you practice your healing on her after her new hobby, but it's minor things, since it's _Haruka_. Boys his age are always getting into trouble and scrapes, and you can practice your healing on him."

She was very optimistic about it. After returning from Takeshi's house, Hotaru had stared at her hands for what felt like hours, wondering if she had made a mistake. Venus certainly was reassuring, but Saturn hoped that she would not be the straw that broke the camel's back and put them all in danger.

Still, Venus made a valid argument, and Saturn knew she could be rather pessimistic.

"My point is," Venus said. "You don't have to be so scared. If worse comes to worse, we'll just face it like we always have. We've faced too much for us to be goated by something so trivial."

Saturn felt her lips twitch into a smile despite the kick Venus aimed towards her chest. "Cowed," she corrected while jumping back and then to the side.

Venus hit the wall, but landed on her feet easily. "Yeah, that," she agreed.

* * *

Talking with Venus had helped. The leader of the inner sailor soldiers had all but given her implicit permission to share her identity with those she could trust.

Hotaru knew she wouldn't, but it was nice to be supported. She had cared about Haru and Takeshi for years, considered them her friends, but had felt a divide, subconsciously. Initially it had been due to the frozen time her body had been in for years, leaving her unchanging while the two of them grew, and after that it had been because of her secrets.

Withholding such a significant part of her meant that the relationships she built could, at best, be only half-sincere. That was how it had felt to Hotaru.

But at the same time she couldn't just tell them out of the blue that she was Sailor Saturn. Maybe share more of herself as Tomoe Hotaru, instead of remaining a mystery. As seen in Takeshi's case, it was clear that she hadn't been communicating with either of them well enough, if he had been under the implication that she was only with him because of his mother's death.

She would, Hotaru decided, give everything she could as Tomoe Hotaru to make up for what she couldn't give them as Sailor Saturn.

"Remember how we used to play princess and knights when we were younger?"

Hotaru paused, recalling the game Haru had started one day, out of the blues, after declaring Hotaru a princess. That had been more of taking pictures, and Haru and Takeshi wielding sticks they pretended were swords while Hotaru sat patiently, waiting to be 'rescued' from the invisible demons holding her captive. Sometimes they switched things up a bit and the knights were fighting ghosts with the charms the princess bestowed upon them. "Yes?"

They hadn't played that game in a while, come to think of it. Haru had always been the driving force behind them, creative in the stories she spun out.

Takeshi beamed. "Well, Tsuna likes playing the mafia game."

After Takeshi's near-death, Hotaru, realizing that she had been neglecting Takeshi, made sure to meet up with him at least once a week. He was more animated now, talking about Tsuna – the boy that had saved his life – and the things they did together. Takeshi was the only male friend she had, and she didn't really know what boys did in their free times.

She had assumed video games, sports, something involving exercise.

"The . . . _mafia_ game?" Were they thinking of the same thing? Weren't mafia criminals?

Takeshi described it as a pretty active kind of game, involving a lot of running and dodging. A little like the exercises he used to do with his dad, for helping improve reflexes and speed, before he started baseball.

"That sounds exhausting," summarized Hotaru, after he finished describing all the realistic toys used to play. Dodging balls in physical education class was hard enough, but dodging toy knives, bullets and bombs? Ugh.

Even her deep-rooted hatred of exercise and running could not deter Takeshi's cheer. "Yeah, but I got approved to play with Tsuna. Even Gokudera had to accept it, and he's Tsuna's ear lobe."

For the second time in a short period Hotaru doubted her hearing, because surely she couldn't have heard that right.

"Wait, what?" That sounded more like an anatomy game than a mafia game. Unless they were talking about illegal organ harvesting, but even so, an ear lobe? Did those get harvested, too?

"He used to be the right arm," supplied Takeshi. "But I joined and he tried to make me the shoulder blade, so I demoted him to ear lobe."

Oh, that made more sense. Quite the downgrade, going from right arm to ear lobe. Takeshi was good for the role, though, Hotaru thought with full bias. Far better than anyone else. Especially someone that tried to make him a shoulder blade.

"He's the transfer student, right?" The one from Italy, if she remembered his stories of Namimori Middle right.

"Yeah. He's a little grumpy – probably from not getting enough calcium or drinking milk. Hey," Takeshi said suddenly, recalling that she also didn't like milk. "That reminds me-"

Hotaru wasn't going to drink milk, even if he asked her nicely. "They didn't make you sign anything, right?"

He gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she was trying to do, but went along with it anyways. "No. I did pass the entrance test, though, so it's more of an honor thing. Sometimes that's stronger than a piece of paper."

"True," she agreed. Her devotion and loyalty, like that of the other sailor soldiers, weren't something that needed to be left in writing. "But still, if they ever try to make you sign something, read it carefully, and get a copy. If they say you have to sign it there and then, that's a scam. Don't agree to give them your organs."

Who knew, if yakuza or some other criminals tried something?

"Tsuna wouldn't do that," Takeshi said simply.

Hotaru sighed and reminded herself that she had wanted Takeshi to make more friends, that his pickiness meant his friend was probably a good person. "Just don't get downgraded to ear lobe yourself if another person joins."

"Nah, I wouldn't be Tsuna's ear lobe. Gokudera tried to make me the nose hair after that, though."

"And you took that lying down?" Hotaru asked, outraged. Nose hair, really? What was he, five?

"No, I told him he was Tsuna's snot after that."

She gave Takeshi a satisfied thumbs-up at that comeback. It was a double insult, calling him snot and simultaneously banishing him from being a real body part. She was so proud of him.

* * *

Haru was always enthusiastic, but she seemed even more so today.

"He's so cute," she gushed, eyes sparkling like stars. "He wears this tiny black suit and a fedora hat and he has such pretty dark eyes and Hotaru-chan, Haru just wants to hug him tight and never let him down on the ground!"

Hotaru, having picked up that Haru had found a cute child to gush over, nodded, listening to her friend's words.

"That's a weird choice of clothes for a child, though," she said, when Haru paused for breath. Setsuna had loved dressing her up – all her parents had – and still did, but a suit? A fedora? Not clothes one usually thought to put on a baby. That sounded like the dress code of a private investigator or someone a little closer to the noire genre.

"Maybe," Haru agreed. "But if you saw him you wouldn't think so. He's _so_ cute!"

Some moms _did_ like dressing their children up in formal clothes, or in fashion closer to costumes. Hotaru just hoped the child wasn't too uncomfortable.

That would have been all the thought she gave to the mystery fedora baby, but the next day, Haru was furious.

"How _dare_ he corrupt an innocent angel of a child?" she raged. Already some of their classmates, recognizing a storm ready to lash out, were cowering, metaphorically battening down their hatches and bracing themselves.

Hotaru frowned. Haru was an emotional person, yes, but for her to be this outraged did worry her.

"Don't do anything dangerous?" she asked, when Haru quietened into more of a simmering rage.

Haru clenched her fists and Hotaru knew her words had bounced off. "Anything I get into couldn't be as bad as what that poor baby's going through right now!"

If it was abuse, Hotaru wasn't going to be stopping Haru. Just diverting her focuses so that justice could be served without Haru exposing herself to danger. "What's happening?"

So far all Haru had raged about was how children should be protected (yes) and that they were angels with pure white hearts (a little debatable but yes, they could be influenced rather easily, Hotaru would give her that) who shouldn't be soiled by evil people (yes, definitely). In between her anger she had also spoken of how adorable Reborn was, and how articulate he was for someone so young – even if some of what he said had been due to the terrible influence of a no-good-rotten (and so the monologue shifted back into rage territory) boy who didn't deserve to be around children as pure as Reborn.

 _What an odd name for a child_ , Hotaru thought. _Or really, for anyone._

The next day, Haru didn't come to school. Hotaru called during break, worried that Haru had actually confronted the accused abuser instead of taking matters to the police. She picked up, much to her relief.

"I just accidentally fell into the river, that's all, Hotaru-chan," Haru said over the phone. "I'll come to school tomorrow."

"What happened?" she asked, because _why had Haru fallen into the river and missed school_?

"It's a long story, I'll tell you more tomorrow." Hotaru read between the lines and realized there were things Haru didn't want to explain to her parents, which meant whatever had happened, it probably would have gotten Haru grounded if either one of her parents found out.

"Okay," Hotaru said, a little unconvinced but with nothing she could do.

The day after that, there was no trace of the anger in Haru.

"Hotaru-chan," Haru said, eyes dreamy. "I'm in love."

Hotaru mentally asked herself if the Starlights or some other sailors were coming to Earth. Not that she knew of, in the near future. No alien royalty, as far as she knew, and if any royalty from other places were coming to Japan they wouldn't be coming to Namimori, of all places.

Which meant this wasn't alien magic used in an attempt to manipulate Haru, no matter how sudden the change.

"With a prince?" she asked, just to be sure, because Haru had a rather specific taste in a future love interest, the last time she checked.

"A person like a prince," Haru corrected, sighing happily. Definitely love.

Now Hotaru was more curious.

"In what way?" The only prince she really knew was Chiba Mamoru, and she had it on good authority that he was a very popular person despite his devotion and love to his wife. He also fit the image of a fairy tale prince, too. Tall, handsome, kind-hearted . . . dramatic backstory . . .

Haru smiled, expression dreamy as she recounted. "He saved me when I fell into the river and nearly drowned."

Hotaru dropped the pencil she had been holding, because that last part was news to her. Haru was an excellent swimmer. "What?"

Why were all her friends falling and nearly dying? Sure, they were saved at the last moment, but still. Was there some kind of demon or evil invaders afoot she wasn't aware of?

Haru explained what had happened, and Hotaru wasn't sure whether to laugh or be horrified. At least she hadn't jumped deliberately, like Takeshi, but.

"Did you apologize for challenging him to a fight?" she asked, because there were priorities.

"Hahi!" Haru gasped. "I didn't apologize to Tsuna-san!"

Tsuna?

Maybe, Hotaru thought as the bell rang and they returned to their desks _,_ there were more in common with her friends than falling from heights and nearly dying.

Maybe she should meet this Tsuna, to thank him for saving her friends.

* * *

AN: this chapter mentions information from Codename: Sailor V. All you need to know is basically Sailor Venus woke up first, out of all the inner sailor soldiers (even before Sailor Moon) and fought on her own for a while with Artemis. She had a crush on a dude who turned out to be Venusian in his previous life but worked for the Dark Kingdom in this one because he was in love with her and then he died in front of her right after telling her she'd always choose duty over love.

Next chapter Tsuna and Hotaru will finally meet!

TL;DR

Hotaru: *secretly worried and panicking about revealing part of her secret to Takeshi*

Minako: "Don't sweat it! Think of him as EXP farming for your healing skills!"

Hotaru: ...

Sweet Dreams~


	19. Daily Life IV

Studying sucked. Math, for all the teacher insisted it was a universal language that followed laws and gave logical answers, _did not make sense_.

Which meant Tsuna needed to take makeup classes, which made studying suck even more. The classroom looked more spacious with fewer students sitting in it, but it was still stifling because of the summer heat. That, and the fact that Kyoko wasn't in it, made it a hell for Tsuna. Everything their teacher said felt like it went into one ear and out the other without leaving a trace of its existence in his brain.

"Hey, Tsuna," Yamamoto said, as they began to leave the makeup class. The taller boy had failed the exam, close to the cut-off line for a passing grade. It probably made him a terrible person to think this, but Tsuna was kind of glad Yamamoto was in the makeup class with him. This way he had a friend with him, and that made the time of torture a lot more bearable.

"Want to study together?" Yamamoto suggested. "My friend usually tutors me in school subjects, and she told me that she wanted to meet you."

Tsuna nearly shrieked because _for the love of Reborn's sadism, he could not imagine why Yamamoto's friend wanted to meet him_.

"Why?!" he half-wailed. If Yamamoto's friend happened to be from Italy like Lambo or Bianchi or Reborn, Tsuna was going to lose it.

Yamamoto grinned, carefree like it was no big deal. "Oh, she wanted to thank you for saving my life."

That . . . that was embarrassing and a lot of pressure, but not as bad as he expected.

"So we should go to her house today!"

Never mind, it was bad.

Tsuna was about to protest, but Reborn popped out of his usual place – that is to say, nowhere – and answered for him. "He'll be there."

"Don't decide that on your own," Tsuna said automatically, and he hurried to add a reason before Reborn could turn violent. It was a poor attempt and Reborn was hardly ever logical or reasonable when he dished out the blows, but he tried if only for the sake of Yamamoto's friend. Whoever she was, it wasn't too late for her yet. She could still not become involved with the chaos that was slowly starting to permeate his own life. "It's not even your house, we can't just go without advance notice. What if she's out or something?"

Yamamoto betrayed him with a cheerful grin. "She won't mind. She usually stays at home during the summer, because it's too bright and hot outside for her to go out."

"It's settled, then," Reborn decided before Tsuna could even try to stop him. It was basically the story of his life.

After dropping by home for a change of clothes – and grabbing some drinks to not go with empty hands – Tsuna met up with Yamamoto. Reborn followed, despite Tsuna's best attempts to have him stay home. All it earned him was another kick to the face, and the burden of somehow having to explain to Yamamoto's friend why a baby was with them.

He wasn't even sure if Yamamoto's friend would welcome _him_ , how was he supposed to cover the presence of a baby?

"What's your friend's name?" Tsuna asked, because while Yamamoto was popular with the girls in school, he had never seen him close with any of them.

"Tomoe Hotaru," Yamamoto answered, and no, that wasn't a name he recognized. "She goes to Midori Middle School, and she's the same age as us. She's really smart, so you don't have to worry."

Whether Yamamoto's friend was smart or not was actually the _least_ of his worries, because she was still a _total stranger_ to him.

"Although I might have to worry," Yamamoto continued, scratching at his face sheepishly. "She's going to be a little disappointed that I have to take makeup classes."

"What's she like?" he asked, a little worried now despite what Yamamoto had said. If she was going to be mad about Yamamoto's grades, then maybe she would be a stern kind of person that was serious about studies.

And if she was, then she was going to be disappointed that he was friends with Yamamoto.

Yamamoto considered the question before he answered in the simplest way possible. "She's nice."

That was incredibly unhelpful and Tsuna put all his heart into the Look he shot Yamamoto, but they had already arrived at their destination for a better explanation to be given.

Tense with trepidation, Tsuna clutched at the bag with the drinks from the convenience store Yamamoto swore his friend liked as the taller boy rang the doorbell to a two-story house. Tomoe Hotaru lived in a nice part of town – actually, not that far from his own home, closer to the direction of Midori.

The door opened. Standing in the doorway was a pale girl with chin-length dark hair, around their age. If she had attended Namimori with Yamamoto, Tsuna was fairly sure there would have been two school idols. He thought, personally, Kyoko was prettier, bright and warm as the sun, but Yamamoto's friend was pretty in her own serene, calm way. Like the difference between the sun and the moon.

Her dark eyes landed on Tsuna, and they widened in surprise.

Before he could explain his presence and introduce himself, Yamamoto waved and put an arm around Tsuna's shoulders.

"Hey, Hotaru!" he said. "I brought Tsuna over to study with us!"

"At least introduce us before getting right to the point!" Tsuna protested loudly, despairing at the lack of common sense in his life.

* * *

Sawada Tsunayoshi, even before she had met him, was already someone she considered quite favorably. He had saved Takeshi, he had saved Haru, and Hotaru was grateful for both counts. They were her friends, and she didn't make those very easily. It was a little unfortunate that both her friends had suddenly gained the quirk of falling from high places and nearly dying, but they had been saved.

But seeing him for herself meant, to her eyes, seeing a glimmer of silver around his heart, an unmistakeable trace of magic left by the Legendary Silver Crystal that only one person in the present time could wield.

Usagi had met Sawada Tsunayoshi.

The magic's trace was minimal. It was benign in nature, a blessing more than anything, meant to give him strength. No, not give him strength, let him access the strength he had within him inherently when he needed it, so he could face his problems, and a prayer for him to one day meet those that would change him for the better.

For him to be happy, and for those around him that he loved to be happy.

It wasn't yet used, and Hotaru remembered a conversation from years ago about an unnamed boy Usagi had tried to help.

It was a very kind blessing, as all things Usagi tended to do were, and the fact that it remained with him meant he was a kind-hearted person fully deserving of it – and that its full potential hadn't been needed yet.

Hotaru beamed at him.

"It's very nice to meet you, Sawada-san," she said to him, extending her hand towards him for a handshake.

He looked a little taken aback at just how friendly she was being to him, but Hotaru didn't let that bother her. She had perfectly valid reasons for seeing him in such a good light, and friendliness had never killed anyone, as far as she knew.

"A-ah, nice to meet you too, Tomoe-san," stammered Sawada Tsunayoshi, taking the hand she offered slowly, like she might take it away at any moment.

She shook it firmly, despite his light grip. "Hotaru is fine." Accepted and acknowledged by Takeshi, Haru and Usagi. Three ringing endorsements of character for Hotaru.

"Then just Tsuna for me, too," he said, before adding "everyone calls me that."

"Then, Tsuna-san," said Hotaru. "Takeshi. And . . . ?"

Now that she had managed to look away from the boy that had been blessed by Usagi, she noticed the third figure in the party, perched on Takeshi's shoulders quite comfortably despite his small size. Given that he was a baby, she might be forgiven for overlooking him at first so long as Haruka didn't find out.

Also, said baby was wearing a fedora, suit and black leather shoes, matching the description Haru had given down to the gem-like pacifier around his neck. He really was quite adorable. Haru hadn't understated his charm.

Hotaru wondered if there was a fate beginning to weave them all into one tapestry. "Is your name Reborn?"

The baby looked at her with dark eyes, and Hotaru's smile nearly slipped. Those eyes were disconcerting, not quite right for someone his age. Something didn't feel right with him.

An invader? No – they usually tried to blend in better, or at least took form into something a little more mobile and less limiting. Not a baby. There was the possibility of a different type of infiltration, though . . .

On the other hand, this _was_ Namimori, so maybe she was overreacting.

"Ciaossu, Tomoe Hotaru," greeted the fedora-wearing baby. "That _is_ my name. How did you know?"

"I have a friend named Miura Haru," she said, and noticed Tsuna jump in surprise. She felt her smile become more genuine at that reaction. "And she told me about a cute baby she met and became friends with. But I'm being rude. Please, come in."

Hotaru had forgotten about it until now, due to the events that followed, but she remembered when she saw that rather unique outfit.

"You know Haru?" Tsuna asked, surprise clear on his face as he followed Takeshi and stepped into her house.

"My other best friend," Hotaru replied, turning to face the two-time saviour of her free-falling friends. "That's why I asked Takeshi to bring you over."

Tsuna fidgeted nervously, a flush slowly growing over his face as Takeshi gave a thumbs up.

"Thank you for saving them," Hotaru said, beginning to lead them into the dining room now that everyone's shoes were off. "Even someone who put baseball over his own life."

Takeshi sighed. "I'm sorry."

"You should be." She went to the kitchen. Makoto had sent over cupcakes, and there was still plenty left. "Any drinks?"

"We brought some!" blurted Tsuna, setting the bag he had been carrying on the table of the dining room and then wincing when the plastic made the trademark crinkling sound of the material rubbing against itself.

"Milk, please," joked Takeshi, coming over to help her grab some cups and plates.

Hotaru pointed at him as she opened the fridge. "Just for that, I'm making it milk tea."

"It's too hot for tea," Takeshi complained without real heat. Hotaru subtly glanced at the cups he had pulled out and nodded in approval. They matched the plates.

"It's never too hot for tea," she said absentmindedly, even as she got the milk out for him. Only Haruka and Takeshi, when he came over, drank milk at their house. Luckily there was still more than enough left.

Once the food and drinks had been laid out, Hotaru helped them with their homework.

"It might be faster," she agreed when Takeshi suggested they split the work in half. "But that also means you get only half the practice and won't get as used to solving different question formats."

Takeshi pouted, but she refused to be budged.

Tsuna scratched at the back of his head, a nervous action that seemed more like he was trying to keep his hands occupied rather than to relieve an actual itch. Hotaru gave him a reassuring smile.

"Math isn't my best subject," he admitted, lightly flushing. "I'm really bad at it. And, well, other subjects too."

"That's okay," Hotaru reassured him. "No one can be good at everything." Even Setsuna was terrible at cooking and music theory.

Takeshi and Tsuna solved as much of the worksheet as they could and tried their best on the questions that threw them off before asking her for help. It took some time, but they eventually finished all the questions correctly.

Tsuna relaxed through the session. While he had struggled initially, when Hotaru explained and demonstrated multiple times using examples and visual aids, he had begun to understand.

"You're really good at teaching," Tsuna said, after the last question was completed. The relieved sigh he exhaled as he put down his pencil in the way a warrior hero might lay down his sword after days and nights of intense battle against a monster of legends made it clear just how monstrous he had viewed his assignment, and Hotaru fought to not giggle.

He was very genuine about it, too, and his wide eyes were so honest, it was impossible to think of his words as idle compliments.

Hotaru could see why he had drawn Usagi's eyes, all those years ago, and why Takeshi had opened to him. There was something about Tsuna, a charm of sorts beyond Usagi's blessing that made him very likeable. It was so obvious and a part of him it was, counteractively, hard to spot, but it was undeniably there.

"Isn't she?" Takeshi sounded proud on her behalf. "Sometimes I feel like she knows the answers to everything. Hotaru's the best teacher ever."

"Thank you," she answered modestly to them both. "But I can't take all the credit. I had good students."

Takeshi excused himself to go to the bathroom, cracking his neck as he went.

"I'm sorry for coming without," Tsuna rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Y'know. Advance warning or anything."

Hotaru shook her head. "It's okay, I don't mind."

Tsuna looked like there were a lot of things he wanted to say to that but was just barely holding back for the sake of manners. Hotaru felt mirth fill her when she realized that was the look a person might give to a child blindly trusting the world, ready to step into the unknown and danger if only a candy was dangled in front of their eyes. He thought she was being too trusting, too naïve, and was worried on her behalf.

It really wasn't naivety on her part, though, and not just because of the blessing Usagi had left on him.

"Takeshi brought you," Hotaru said simply. Her friend would have done no such thing if he thought there was even a chance of Tsuna being a threat to her in some way.

"Besides," she added. "I've been telling him to introduce us since you saved him."

And look how it had all worked out. Truly, it was quite serendipitous.

Reborn hopped onto the table. "See? You need to learn the difference between being polite and being social, Tsuna. Otherwise you'll never make new friends."

Tsuna squinted at Reborn suspiciously. "Where have you been?"

"In the garden." Reborn tipped his hat to Hotaru. "It's quite lovely. Your family must spend a lot of time taking care of it."

Realizing he must have been bored while they were studying, Hotaru chastised herself for not paying attention to him.

"Not as much as you might think," she answered. The garden in their house, as with all plant-related things, had Makoto's touch. Makoto always had fun organizing the garden to her tastes, and in that area, she had no equal among the sailor soldiers. All Hotaru and her parents did were water them as per given instructions and keep it neat until Makoto was struck by inspiration again the next time she visited.

Speaking of Makoto, though . . .

"Would you like a cupcake?" she offered, pushing the plate towards him. "I can cut them up for you if you want."

"No need, but thank you." Reborn picked one up and began to eat it after careful examination.

"You're awfully polite . . ." muttered Tsuna.

"Dame-Tsuna. A true man is always polite to ladies."

There was something comical about the way Reborn said it that Hotaru averted her eyes to the side for a moment to avoid laughing. Reborn and Tsuna got along very well, despite the slight oddity in their relationship.

Before it got too late, the boys left.

"Come over again," she told them at the door, bidding them goodbye. Takeshi grinned, understanding that it was a genuine offer rather than a polite thing to say, and nodded. Good.

* * *

AN: In Petrichor Reborn held off on question 7 (you can't tell me that he wasn't the one to put it there) and spent the time snooping around Hotaru's house, seeing if he should recruit her. He's on the fence right now, and so far his background checks on her has given him nothing (Kawahira has been eluding Arcobaleno for centuries and he's very good at making fake IDs at this point in his life). Technically Tomoe Hotaru of the present doesn't have a direct link to the criminal world.

Summoning on the new banner for this chapter too, so wish me luck!

TL;DR

*:・ﾟ✧

Takeshi, when Tsuna asked what Hotaru was like: oh boy, where do I begin. Well, she's a little shy, and she's quiet, but she's also really smart, and she's good at playing the violin. She might seem a little distant at first but that's only because she's shy and quiet. If you get to know her she's the greatest person ever, and the best friend you could have. She's awesome.

Also Takeshi: But Tsuna should just get all that himself instead of me telling him, so I should keep it simple.

Takeshi: "She's nice."

Tsuna: That's not helpful?!

*:・ﾟ✧

Hotaru's impression of Namimori: I assume anything weird is because of Kawahira and Namimori being Namimori.

Kawahira, far far away: Rude.

Sweet Dreams~


	20. Daily Life V

"As you all know," said Ms. Tohoku, their homeroom teacher. "Tomorrow is a day off. If you show up to school, you can have fun all alone while your classmates do whatever it is they're doing, like enjoying the weather, or going shopping, or watching the Namimori Athletic Festival, because Midori doesn't have one after that fiasco three years ago and the school figured, if we're not having one we'll send our students to look at a different school's and realize on their own time why we don't have them anymore."

She shuddered delicately. One of the students raised her hand.

"Sensei," she said. "Why _doesn't_ Midori have a sports festival?"

Ms. Tohoku pointed in her direction with a dramatic finger. "An excellent question, ten points to Ravenclaw."

"I'm a Hufflepuff," mumbled the student, but was ignored with a hair flick.

"Since we're nearly done and no one can focus when you have a day off tomorrow," Ms. Tohoku grinned knowingly. "Let me tell you a story about the school you attend, and why we don't get to have fun things like a festival where you girls make idiots of yourselves in front of not just the whole school but also the visiting families."

Not that Hotaru was a proponent of sports festivals in general, but Ms. Tohoku had a way of making it sound horrendous. No wonder she liked her homeroom teacher so much.

"Once upon a time – and by that I mean before three years ago – Midori, too, had an athletic festival. Was it as big or as eventful as the ones held by Namimori Middle? No. Usually when boys are involved in something it tends to get messier and more violent, which is why I teach in an all-girls' school. That's not sexism, that's just a fact. If you check the papers, you'll find that after every sports festival they've held, Namimori Middle always makes it someway, somehow onto the local news for injury, property destruction or some kind of unintended accident like the time a bunch of roosters attacked the audience, or that other time when someone got their hair caught on fire."

That sounded so incredibly like what would happen in a place with the name 'Namimori' that Hotaru believed it immediately. Some of the students in the class tittered. Shrugging satisfactorily at the reaction she had drawn from her listeners Ms. Tohoku continued her story.

"But I digress. Back to Midori. We had annual athletic competitions, and none of them were as close to being, shall we say, _eventful_ as Namimori's until the fateful day."

"What happened?" Haru asked.

"There were two girls," said Ms. Tohoku somberly. "For the sake of confidentiality let us refer to them as A-ko and B-ko."

"That's such a lazy fake name," booed someone behind Hotaru.

"I totally agree." Ms. Tohoku said and didn't bother taking up the constructive criticism. "A-ko and B-ko were friends. Not the best of friends, just a friend from class kind of friend. They were both third years, and they had been in the same class for their three years in the school. That was about all they had in common. Or," she paused for dramatic effect. "So they thought."

"What else did they have in common?"

"Were they secretly sisters?"

"Oh, so the father must have cheated on two different women, and they didn't know until they coincidentally came to the same school and found out when he came to their sports festival!"

Ms. Tohoku made a face with intense squinting eyes and puckered lips, as if she had bitten into a lemon without warning. "Normally I'd tell you girls to not write fanfictions about people you don't know about, and to not draw conclusions so quickly, but you're actually close with the theme so I'll let it go this time. The two girls both had a boyfriend."

Someone gasped, realizing where she was going with this. "They were dating the same boy!"

Their homeroom teacher nodded with a serious set to her lips, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Exactly. It turns out that this boy had been cheating on both the girls, and they only found out during the athletic festival when A-ko caught B-ko asking the boy for a good-luck kiss. A-ko, being a girl with a, shall we say, _fiery_ nature, demanded to know what B-ko was saying to her boyfriend, and while B-ko was shier than A-ko she had a spine and she snapped back that he was _her_ boyfriend, A-ko must have been mistaken."

Scandalized but clearly intrigued, the class listened with bated breath for what came next.

"Now the two girls were on opposite teams, and almost as if it was fated, ended up facing each other in the wrestling match."

 _Wrestling_? Hotaru thanked the stars that Midori no longer held the event.

"You girls have to remember that the full truth isn't out yet, and from the perspective of the girls, it was the other that had essentially seduced her boyfriend like a homewrecking Delilah." Ms. Tohoku gave a small shrug, as if to say, 'what could you do?'

"The match started, and instead of a wrestling match, it was a catfight. I think A-ko jumped on B-ko, trying to claw at her face, and B-ko was trying to bite A-ko wherever she could, and both of them were calling each other names that made the principal want to wash their mouths out with soap. Really, it happened all so fast I don't remember the details, just that I knew I didn't want to be the one getting between them."

"What did they say?" someone called out slyly.

Ms. Tohoku sent a 'nice-try' look towards that direction. " _Bad_ words, which I will not repeat as a teacher in front of her students lest the principal decide to wash _my_ mouth out with soap."

"What happened afterwards?" pressed a different person, eager to know the ending, not the insults thrown around back then.

"The referee – another teacher, let's call her Ms. C – tried to step in and separate the girls, but they were too angry to see her properly, so they just smashed past her like charging bulls and ended up knocking poor Ms. C away like Team Rocket blasting off again. It didn't help that she was a tiny woman to begin with."

"Is Ms. C Ms. Kaai?" called out a girl behind Haru, naming the shortest teacher on the Midori faculty.

"No comment on true identities. Confidentiality, girls. So the referee is out of commission, the girls are fighting like they're trying to kill each other with their bare hands, and the spectators are finally realizing that this is not planned and there is something wrong because it doesn't look like wrestling, what's going on down there. One of the student council members running around and making sure the festival goes as organized, let's call her D-ko, sees this and has a stroke of genius. Some might consider it reckless or brash, but I consider this genius so take my bias with a grain of salt."

Ms. Tohoku checked the clock, and Hotaru, along with at least half the class, turned their heads. They still had a few more minutes till the bell rang. Enough time for their teacher to finish the story.

"She picked up a bucket of water – with ice cubes, for a different challenge – and threw it onto A-ko and B-ko."

Hotaru felt phantom chills run down her spine at the thought of being drenched with ice water and suppressed a shudder.

"Hey, I know this story," said someone behind her. "D-ko's my cousin!"

Ms. Tohoku laughed. "Then you know how it ended?"

"No, um, D-ko's always super-embarrassed by it and she covers my aunt's mouth whenever she tries to share the story. How does it end?"

"Oh, I don't know," said their teacher, grinning in a positively evil manner. "If D-ko didn't want to share-"

The rest of her words were drowned out by protests from all the class. Hotaru was among them, because there was no way she could just not end the story after all that.

"Alright, alright!" Ms. Tohoku had to make a calm-down gesture at them. "I'll finish the story. D-ko threw the bucket of water, but she forgot that they were all wearing white t-shirts. A-ko and B-ko remembered, though, partly because they were the ones getting wet, and partly because cold water is enough to cool anyone's hot heads even in the heat of the moment."

Several of her classmates made sounds of sympathy and understanding.

"Freezing wet, hair a total mess, embarrassed and upset, A-ko and B-ko wiped away the water from their eyes, and apparently they also wiped away whatever rose-tinted lenses they'd been wearing because the two of them, in synchronized unison, looked at where their cheating boyfriend was standing."

The bell rang, and never had the sound been more annoying than in that moment.

"Enjoy your day off tomorrow, girls!" With a cheerful clap, Ms. Tohoku began to grab for her bag. Almost as loud as the sound of the bell were the groans that came from everyone in the class in that moment.

"Ms. Tohoku! Come back here!"

"You can't just leave without finishing the story!"

"No cliff-hangers!"

None of that stopped Ms. Tohoku from cheerily stepping out of the classroom like she hadn't just left them all hanging. "Don't forget to finish your homework! See you girls after the weekend!"

"She's so _evil_ ," mumbled the girl in front of her, and Hotaru was inclined to agree.

.

The weather forecast wasn't perfect, but it was accurate most of the time, and today was no exception. The sun was bright, the skies were clear, and the day was warm.

In other words, it was the perfect weather for a school to hold a sports festival.

Namimori Middle School did exactly that. Since Midori had a day off, Hotaru was at a school that wasn't even hers to watch students exercise in the name of competition under three different teams.

The things she did for her friends. At least she wasn't required to participate.

Haru came early in the morning to take her to Tsuna's house, where they prepared lunches for the day. Tsuna's mom was a very nice woman, and a fantastic cook. She had the same kind of aura Tsuna did, the warm, comforting kind, as well as the same round eyes lacking judgement.

"It's so nice that Tsuna's friends are here to cheer him on," Nana said. "But are you girls sure you don't have to be at your own schools?"

Hotaru shook her head. "We have a day off, Sawada-san."

"Please, just call me Auntie," said Nana. "And I didn't know that."

Hotaru caught Haru's eyes, and instantly knew the other girl was also thinking of Ms. Tohoku's story. She bit the inside of her mouth to prevent herself from bursting into laughter. Sharing a story when it ended in a cliff-hanger was as evil as her homeroom teacher, and she didn't want to subject Sawada Nana to that.

It was also interesting to meet Tsuna's other family. Lambo, despite being foreign, had no difficulty speaking Japanese. He seemed to be a very bright child, in both personality and linguistic ability. He was also loud and cheerful, as befitting his age. Setsuna might have balked at his fashion, but otherwise he was a cute child.

Haru also introduced her to Bianchi, the beautiful young foreign woman who lived in the Sawada residence as a homestay of sorts.

"I'm here for Reborn," she said, fond smile warming the initial cold impression Hotaru had received from her.

She seemed fond of children, from her obvious affections for Reborn and how she interacted with Haru. They hadn't known each other very long, but Haru was already treating her like an older sister.

But then again, Haru was _Haru_ , so that could also have been it.

After preparing the foods – and Hotaru finding a similarity between Bianchi and Setsuna in their culinary skills, or lack thereof – they headed to the school together to cheer on Tsuna, Takeshi and Gokudera Hayato. Hotaru had been surprised to find that Bianchi was Gokudera's sister, after meeting her and him.

Their coloring was different – Bianchi with pink hair a few shades darker than Chibi-Usa's, and Gokudera with silver locks – but once their relationship had been explained, Hotaru could see their resemblance in little details of their face, like the shape of their eyes or the set of their lips.

The boy that had called Takeshi a shoulder blade was quite prickly, constantly frowning and ruining the good looks that he had. He also seemed to have more than a few bones to pick with another boy with white hair buzzed close to his scalp. For a moment she worried.

Then she remembered that Gokudera was the kind of person who thought Takeshi would make a shoulder blade, so.

Hotaru folded up any and all worries she might have had and threw them away before she turned her attention away from him, and towards Takeshi. He was running for Team A now in the relay race, and he was in the lead.

The fact that the two and a half people she was here to cheer for – the half being Gokudera, by virtue of his sister being next to her but also only half for being on her list of people she didn't really know and therefore cared little about – were all on the same team made it easier for Hotaru.

The run was nearly over, and the ribbon was stretched out over the finish line. The participants ran the last stretch, squeezing out what little strength they had left.

But Takeshi was faster. Hotaru cheered when he crossed before anyone else, tearing the ribbon from the tapes and letting it drape horizontally across his torso, the physical proof that he had gotten first place trailing like the cape of a conqueror behind him.

His teammates, with the same jersey to show their association, crowded around him, loud and rambunctious in their victory. A head taller than his peers, his eyes flit over to where he was. He grinned and waved.

She waved back as the speakers announced the next event – also a relevant one she needed to watch. The pogo race was one where Tsuna was supposed to participate. It wasn't as bad as running, but it was still a race, and it required balance to prevent humiliation.

Hotaru imagined herself doing any of these events and shuddered despite the warm day. It was a good thing Midori didn't have an athletic festival.

.

Hotaru didn't even know what she had expected, but in retrospect she felt like she should have expected something more, something extraordinary and unusual. Something like _this_.

'This' was the team leaders of Team B and C both suddenly made unable to participate in the final event, the Pole-Knocking competition, and Team A being blamed for this.

"Each team's leader rests on a pole," Haru explained when Hotaru's blank face made it clear that she had no idea what that entailed. "And the other teams try to knock the leader off. Whichever team's leader stays on the pole for the longest wins!"

That sounded absolutely horrible. It became even more horrible when she found out that Tsuna was the leader of Team A.

 _Tsuna_ had to be the one, fighting for dear life to stay on a pole – a _pole_ , of all things – while his teammates tried to keep the pole supported and held up and enemies tried to knock it over or drag him down.

Hotaru peered over to check, and sure enough, the participants for this event were all boys. Neo-Queen Serenity only knew how rough it would become.

"I hope it gets cancelled," she said with utmost sincerity. This was _not_ what she had signed up for. Cheering for friends as they hopefully had fun? Yes. Watching them get trampled by a frenzied mob? No.

"I hope so too . . ." moaned Tsuna, as he stumbled over to the place they were sitting at, ready to start lunch in the form of a picnic. He looked like the will to live had been drained from his body.

Sympathetic, Hotaru patted his back and offered him a new bottle of water. "Stay hydrated."

"Thank you . . ."

Poor Tsuna looked like he needed rest. The lunch break _should_ have been a time for him to relax while the third-year students debated how to handle the sudden ineligibility of two leaders.

Life, unfortunately, had a way of throwing curveballs and throwing off what _should_ be.

The glares and comments from members of teams B and C passing near them had a very counterproductive effect to Tsuna's rest.

"That's him. He's the leader of Team A."

"The one that ordered his underlings to take out the other leaders?"

"Yeah."

"I bet he bribed them, he doesn't look that tough."

"What did you expect?"

They certainly weren't making an effort to speak quietly, and with each comment Tsuna shrunk into himself, color leaving his face.

Hotaru's lips thinned in displeasure. She despised bullies who threw out hurtful words without ever considering just how sharply they cut, how deeply they bruised the mind and self of a person until the ego was left in tatters and the victim was left to blame themselves, not the perpetrators.

She wasn't the first one up, though, because Haru, naturally, would not stand for such a thing.

"Who do you think you people are?!" she demanded, leaping to her feet and looking ready to fight all the world with her bare hands if she had to.

If the boys had been smart, or had a sense of shame, they would have realized what they had done wrong and backed down.

They didn't, unfortunately, and Hotaru's dislike of them rose further.

"Ooh, scary," said one mockingly.

Another snickered. "I dunno, I think she's kinda cute."

Haru reared up, ready to say something, but Hotaru spoke then, making sure her voice carried. She couldn't let Haru be the only one to stand up against them. Her ego was no longer in tatters.

"Haru, don't," she said, a little louder than her usual volume. "Their idiocy might be contagious. It's already giving me a headache."

She might have been speaking to Haru, but she let her eyes meet each and every one of their faces. Was it a little over the top to put in a bit of Saturn's powers behind her words? Not death or destruction directly, that was too much, but just a bit of force leaked, enough for them to be intimidated by triggering senses of survival with her aura alone.

Letting them get a sense of the greater being within her for a brief moment.

While they lacked a little in terms of respect for their fellow human, they still had a shred of self-preservation. The hecklers froze up, sweat from more than previous events evident on their foreheads and necks. Maybe it _was_ too much, to expose boys barely out of childhood to the presence of a planetary guardian.

Then Hotaru remembered what they had said about Tsuna and rescinded her thoughts. Immaturity was no excuse or free pass for cruelty to others.

"Then again, it could be the smell," she added, wrinkling her nose. They had been warned, this was enough, no matter how contemptuously she viewed people like them. "Either way, leave us please."

Hotaru turned her attention back to the food. Nana made egg rolls that looked like they belonged on the cover of magazines for cooking recipes, and she'd been dying to try it. They looked so fluffy she almost wanted to try poking it to see if it would bounce back into shape, like a sponge.

The silence from the others made Hotaru look up. Haru was gaping at her, and Tsuna looked . . .

Well, he had the expression of a person who had just been smacked in the back of his head by someone completely unexpected.

Hotaru was fairly sure that neither had been exposed to Saturn's force, having been careful to direct it to the specific individuals, and just for a second, so it probably wasn't that. "What?"

Tsuna never got to answer. Bianchi offered the boys some chocolates, and they collapsed after eating it, clutching at their stomachs and turning a rather pasty color. Hotaru could have pitied them, but she didn't. The rumors of Team A being underhanded and vicious in their attempt to win, unfortunately, grew faster after that. She didn't have the attention to spare for pitying them.

When the speakers announced that Teams B and C would join forces against Team A, Hotaru just barely resisted burying her face into her hands. This was going to be _awful_ to watch. The only consolation was that it couldn't get worse than this, because there were only three teams. Unless Team A turned on itself –

"I'll do it," a cool voice cut through the chatter about who the leader of the joined teams would be. Like the Red Sea, the crowd of students parted to make room for the dictatorial beast of Namimori, not even dressed in gym apparel like everyone else.

Using the heads of other students as stepping stones, Hibari Kyoya leapt up to the pole with easy grace. A smirk twisted his lips, and Hotaru was, through her horror, reminded of a lion, looking down from a large rock at the savannah and claiming it as his own.

. . . it just got worse.

Hotaru looked at Team A's pole, where Tsuna looked pale, even at this distance. The jerseys of Team A were far fewer when compared to the crowd of the united team against them, facing overwhelming odds as if this was a battle, and the field Thermopylae.

A symbol of courage, certainly, and perseverance, one that had made the legend of three hundred against an army multiple times larger than they, but not victory or survival.

"Ready! Go!"

At the order, the teams sprang into action. Team B and C either came to attack, clawing their way through the human barriers Team A members were making with their own bodies, or holding the pole steady with their dear lives lest they drop the beast of Namimori.

Team A was defending viciously, but they had half the people of Team B and C – and none of them were attacking, because while the adrenaline and excitement of the sports festival may have made the students of Team A crazy enough to try their hand at attacking Hibari, the sheer difference in the number of people made it impossible for Team A to actually attempt attacking.

It was an unfair match. Hotaru glanced over at where Hibari was sitting – and for all that he was perched on a pole upheld by students, he truly did look like a lion lounging.

"Mid-air reborn!" roared a voice. Hotaru turned her eyes back to Team A and then did a double take, because the heat must have been making her see things. She thought she had just seen Tsuna, in nothing but his underwear, leap into the air with a flame burning on his forehead. "Win the pole-knocking competition with my dying will!"

She rubbed her eyes and looked again and – maybe rubbing her eyes was a bad idea, because she was seeing him, still in nothing but his underwear and a fire still burning between his brows, using the people below him as footsteps to leap around like a deranged grasshopper.

Hotaru stopped denying reality or the control she had over her eyesight when Takeshi, Gokudera and one other boy formed a cavalry to support Tsuna in charging Team B and C. Just because she had stopped denying it, however, didn't mean she had an easy time _accepting_ it.

"What in Selene's holy name," she said with the deepest sincerity she could muster at this sight. "Is happening right now?"

"Tsuna-san does that sometimes," Haru said, with a dreamy smile. "He did that when he saved me, too. He jumped right into the river after Haru, shouting 'Save Haru with my dying will!'"

Against all odds, Hotaru was _actually_ distracted from the competition – and the sight of a half-naked Tsuna charging forth towards Hibari Kyoya, fighting through students on the back of three friends – as she looked at Haru.

"You didn't mention this part." She had been more than a little vague on just how Tsuna rescued her.

"Hahi!" Haru clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing the secret she had let slip.

"Tsuna did that?" Nana asked interestedly, her attention also drawn at Haru's testimony. "Oh, I'm so proud of my son."

"Look," Bianchi said, and Hotaru remembered that there was a competition she was supposed to be cheering for.

The three-man cavalry with Tsuna – still in his underwear and flaming head, she could no longer deny it – was charging towards Team B and C, but then –

"What are they doing?" Haru asked in disbelief, voicing what everyone was thinking in that moment. The third boy suddenly punched Gokudera, and the action broke the cavalry apart. It was already incredibly difficult to maintain his balance on a stand made of people, and Tsuna lost it, tumbling over Takeshi to crash onto the ground.

The rather anti-climatic end, as if to make up for the lack (?) of action, started a scuffle when members of Team B and C charged towards Tsuna. Team A didn't take that lying down, and it escalated into a full-out brawl.

Ms. Tohoku really hadn't been kidding when she said Namimori Middle had the craziest athletic festival. On her part, Hotaru knew this event would be unforgettable.

* * *

AN: Not as much 'omfg who is that pretty girl with Yamamoto since when did he have a girlfriend' as I thought (or wanted) so later, I guess. The things I sacrifice to try and keep the story's flow smooth (readers: you drama queen).

·˳ ⁎˚

What Hotaru believes would be Setsuna's reaction to Lambo's clothes

Setsuna: "iS THAT A COW-PRINT ONESIE." *faints in horror with the back of her hand pressed to her forehead like a dramatic fainter*

What Setsuna's reaction would actually be.

Setsuna: *silent staring, trying to not judge but…*

Setsuna: *thinking of all the possibilities*

Setsuna: (well… if he likes it…)

Setsuna: *buys clothes for her own daughter while she's at it to cover the bad memories with the good*

Hotaru: ?

·˳ ⁎˚

Hotaru: *has no patience for people she does not like* *puts the power of Saturn behind it while justifying to herself that she's going easy on them, which to be fair she is* Leave.

Team B and C: *exposed to something greater than they should comprehend, frozen with fear*

Tsuna: (Whoa I thought she was just a nice girl but she can be serious and scary too)

Haru: (Hahi! Hotaru-chan's mad!)

Reborn: [REDACTED]

·˳ ⁎˚

Important notice!

I thought we'd pass the daily life arc before we reached 50 reviews on both sites (low expectations) so this is great, but I also have like nothing prepared. So.

When we reach the next mark - a 100 reviews - I'm thinking of posting an AU one-shot (or multi, we'll see how it goes). Since romance is far off in the main story, we can have romance here. I have some ideas, so if people like it they can vote for that or they can be like 'hey so I have an idea and you might like it' and submit that instead of a vote.

Here are the au ideas I have so far.

-Xanxus/Hotaru (where Sailor Saturn, after taking down Pharaoh 90, fell into the KHR world and grew up with Xanxus. Or, Tomoe Hotaru is technically the Cloud Guardian of the Varia)

-Chrome/Hotaru (where Nagi had a friend only she could see and speak to. Or, Tomoe Hotaru's spirit watches over Nagi / Chrome.)

-Mukuro/Hotaru (Mukuro remembers his first life - when he wasn't human, and he died along with the rest of the world as his princess was awakened. Or, one of Mukuro's past life was as a Saturnian)

-Takeshi/Hotaru (a Petrichor AU where, at a party, aliens are attacked and two unlikely people trapped together are trying to fight the invaders without the other noticing their secrets)

Or I could just do a double update but that seems kinda … not special … IDK

Sweet Dreams~


	21. Daily Life VI

**NOTICE**! (TL;DR at end for those who don't care)

I didn't want to say anything because I figured I had to try to show rather than tell as a writer, and it's always fun to watch people theorize on what comes after, but there was an anonymous comment that made me think I should clarify now what direction this story is going to take.

This is not a story where the girls are going to be just beating up Iemitsu or Nono or whoever and be all super-powered saints doing everything right and Fixing Things because they're perfect and somehow knows everything that'll come before. They will be powerful, they will be fighting, and they will kick ass because power level wise they are stronger and they are strong people, but they will be human beings, with flaws, working and living with an agenda in a world filled with other people, just like every other character. I'm not saying characters haven't done anything bad or that their reasons justify the results, but at the same time, I also want to try showing things from their perspectives, and at least judge them fairly. Not to the point where I want them to be all likeable, but at least so that their motives have been defined and it's understandable.

Case in point – Kawahira. I wanted to see more from the enigmatic man who prioritizes the balance of the world above all. What kind of person is he, what kind of life has he lived, what has he seen and lost and given up? He's not a good person from the perspective of the Arcobaleno, to say the least. He's an obfuscating 'friend' from Hotaru's. From the perspective of the planet he's a guardian and a keeper of balance that prevents its destruction and might be considered a good person. And what does he think?

I want to write round, dynamic characters. I want to give them chances at redemption and growth – chances, I might point out, that other characters like Xanxus or Byakuran, objectively 'bad' people, also got in canon.

We are imperfect beings, and sometimes even actions made with the best intentions can hurt each other. We're not all-knowing, after all, and a lack of communication can lead to the worst of outcomes.

Yes it might be frustrating that Hotaru or the other senshi aren't as proactive as some might like, going in with heels and skirts and magic busting down walls and bad guys. Yes it might be frustrating that Mamoru seems weak and passive in comparison because it looks like he does nothing.

But the story I'm trying to tell has a theme of strength being more than just one type, and it's a theme I believe shared by both KHR and SM. I'm not saying my story will be perfect, or that the canon was perfect, or that other interpretations are wrong, but this is my interpretation of it. I might not do as good as a job as I want to. Readers might get frustrated with me and decide they have other stories they prefer to spend their time reading. Okay. That's your choice and I respect that, thank you.

No one is perfect. Choices are made, and in hindsight it may seem dumb and obviously there were better things to be chosen – and maybe that's true. But this is a tale of imperfect people whose stories were less explored in canon that I wanted to expand on and share. I'm sorry if I can't give you the gratification you were expecting or wanting but that's not the kind of writer I am, or the story I wanted to write.

We don't love because, we love despite. Flaws of characters that came with their strengths were what drew me to the story and them, and that's something I can't ignore.

 **TL;DR:** If this isn't the kind of story you wanted to read, sorry it's not but I won't apologize for writing what I want to write.

* * *

Yamamoto Tsuyoshi would never claim he was a perfect man. A lucky one, sure, that he couldn't and wouldn't deny. He'd met a woman he would be proud to call the love of his life, somehow, miraculously, ended up having the fortune to have her fall in love with him as well, had a son he loved and was proud of, and lived a peaceful life.

What darkness that had been in his life before that were insignificant, when he thought about what he had now.

Even after Ameyuri died – and in a car accident, of all things, and not even because of his past, just a car accident, proof that death came regardless of anything and anyone because if the gods were fair they would have taken him and not her – he still had Takeshi, still had a light in his life to live for.

But that didn't mean his past hadn't not left its influences on him.

The clan that protected Namimori had rules. It was simple, in that anyone could come in and settle their roots down, so long as they acknowledged just who owned this town. Their reign, their rules.

And one of their rules was that peace and discipline was to be kept.

It was why a former hitman that had inherited the sword of murder could marry one of its residents and live without much fear. Namimori was a neutral zone, of sorts. Sure, some of its residents ended up working for the Hibari Clan, or contributing in some way to the family, but for the most part they were given safety. Security.

"Pasts are here to be buried," his friend said. "New starts. Peaceful ones."

"Weren't you born here?" Tsuyoshi asked. His start hadn't exactly been the peaceful sort, from what Tsuyoshi knew of his background.

Iemitsu groaned dramatically. "Damn, going straight for the kill today, are we?"

Tsuyoshi snorted, as Iemitsu's smile slipped away.

"Yeah," he said, looking down at his drink. "Going back a few generations, we've been here for a while, trying to bury a past that didn't do a good job of staying under."

Tsuyoshi didn't press, and Iemitsu didn't really elaborate further. That was the kind of friendship they had – distant yet close. Tsuyoshi would never forget that he had created Shinotsuku Ame saving Iemitsu, and Iemitsu would cover Tsuyoshi's tracks and keep his name out of interest, but the two of them didn't make it a point to spend time with each other, not after Tsuyoshi had moved into Namimori, and Iemitsu had gotten to his current position within the Vongola.

It was for their own good, and for the good of their family. For the sake of burying a past. For the same reasons why Tsuyoshi only ensured that his son had the basic foundations but never taught him how to fight, or how to wield a sword.

That Iemitsu had decided to break this unspoken rule meant something was up.

"Matsuyama Suguru and his disciples were killed," Iemitsu said at last, when the beer in his glass offered nothing to his attempts at scrying it.

Tsuyoshi paused. The Hibari Clan didn't really care about just who came into their town, so long as they acknowledged just who reigned, wouldn't care either way if the last inheritor of the Shigure Soen Ryu died or left to pass on the style to a worthy successor. If Matsuyama was dead, along with his disciples, then that meant Tsuyoshi was the only one left with the style, at least from his master's branch of it. And that meant the duty to find and teach a successor now fell onto his shoulders.

He had Takeshi, though. He had a son to take care of, a son that didn't have a mother. Tsuyoshi couldn't just abandon him to go off on a trip to ensure another generation of Shigure Soen Ryu continued.

It probably made him a failure of a successor, he knew, but between the dishonor of ending the line without attempting to continue it and his son, Tsuyoshi would always choose his son.

"I see," he said, thinking back to the days when the blade he wielded was one meant to kill, when he had looked at his fellow apprentice, after they had both proven themselves worthy – but with only one Shigure Gintoki to be inherited.

In the language of the sword they spoke and settled the argument, though no lives were taken. Matsuyama lost, Tsuyoshi won, and the sword best fitted to the self-destructive style came to him. He didn't wield it as he should, after he married Ameyuri, but still.

"He won't come after you," Iemitsu said, breaking in the good news to diffuse the bad. "He's a young swordsman, interested in breaking the different sword styles of the world to perfect his own. He thinks he's done with the Shigure Soen Ryu now."

Tsuyoshi scoffed. "He hasn't broken the Shigure Soen Ryu yet." And he never would, not the perfect, flawless style.

Iemitsu smirked. "That he hasn't." He drained his glass, and stood up. "It's getting restless in Italy. Be on guard, Tsuyoshi."

He couldn't tell Tsuyoshi more details out of loyalties and codes of honor and secrecy, but Tsuyoshi had lived in darker parts of society before. He could hazard a guess to the shitstorm brewing in the Vongola, if Iemitsu had actually warned him. "You got someone to save your sorry ass?"

Because he wouldn't be able to save it again, this time.

Iemitsu laughed. "A good team, yes. Hopefully my luck won't run out this time, but . . ."

"But if it does," Tsuyoshi said, cutting him off. No need to jinx anything and make self-fulfilling prophecies. "I know."

Iemitsu turned to hide his face. "Thanks."

Tsuyoshi wondered, nearly a year later, if his friend's – and his – luck had finally run out when the greatest hitman in the world came waltzing into his restaurant, in the deceptive shape, size and form of a baby he was known for. He nearly despaired when Takeshi revealed the Tsuna that had saved his life to be the son of his friend.

"On the house," he insisted, a smile of good will plastered on his face as he refused payment – making them guests, with food provided by the host. He was relieved when they all ate, even the hitman in the body of a baby, but he didn't let his guard down still. In part it was guest rights he was invoking, and in part he was trying to get a read on the two and a half hitmen his son had brought into the establishment.

The biggest danger – and the smallest person in the shop as well – made a few gestures signifying no intent to kill here, not today. While his son was speaking with his friends – and having fun, from the sounds of it, Tsuyoshi approached the hitman.

"Relax, Yamamoto Tsuyoshi," said the cursed infant. "I'm not here to kill you or your son."

"But you're here, and there's not a nonzero chance of my son getting involved in something dangerous," Tsuyoshi guessed. A shitstorm in Italy, Iemitsu, what the hell, this was _Japan_. "What does the Hibari Clan have to say about all that's going on in the town?"

The world's greatest hitman was hardly going to let something like that bother him. "They're fine with it."

At his silent doubt, Reborn clarified, as a form of a peace offering. "A deal. The Hibari are fine with the Vongola recruiting a small number of people from Namimori, provided it's their choice and they don't turn against the Hibari Clan."

Tsuyoshi felt his head throb. Why couldn't his son have brought friends more like Hotaru and Haru? Polite, pretty, and passionate when needed, perfect in every way. He had so been hoping one of them would end up being a daughter-in-law in the future, betting more towards Haru though either one would honestly have been welcomed with open arms, maybe give him some grandchildren to spoil before he finally kicked the can. All the aspects of a normal, peaceful life.

The gods were laughing at his pain, Tsuyoshi could feel it.

* * *

Hotaru sneezed.

"Bless you," murmured Haruka.

"Thank you," Hotaru said, withdrawing her hand from Haruka, now free of the minor scrapes that had been present. She hoped she wasn't coming down with a cold or a sickness.

Haruka's new 'hobby' since arriving in Namimori meant that she got some scrapes and bruises every now and then from a stray hit she couldn't or didn't dodge. Hotaru's own body had the magic of Saturn running in it, which meant that it could heal passively without much effort on her part. Healing others, though, took more time, something Haruka and Minako believed could be shortened with more practice.

That, of course, was not the reason why Haruka sparred frequently with Hibari Kyoya. The blonde woman came out with minor scratches and a few bruises at most, and that was from blocking blows.

"It's a really weird friendship you have with Hibari," she said. It was a secret that Haruka fought with Hibari, not because the opponent was Hibari Kyoya, terror and tyrant of Namimori, but because Haruka was a famous racer and fighting a middle school student often was hardly something that would socially benefit her.

Haruka snorted as she picked up one of the steamed buns Setsuna brought for dinner. "Hardly a friendship. The kid hates my guts."

Right, because Haruka 'held back' and Hibari didn't like that. Hotaru had never watched them fight and Haruka had never introduced them, both of which she was grateful for. She had come back from Saturn to Namimori, only to learn that for the year since she had been gone from the small town, Haruka had been fighting Hibari.

Not even a few days after moving into the town, Hibari had noticed Haruka and decided to pick a fight with her. Since both Setsuna and Michiru agreed that Haruka hadn't done anything to aggravate him, Hotaru chalked it up to animalistic instincts on Hibari's part, immediately zoning in on the strongest warrior among the outer soldiers as a challenge he wanted to face. It looked like his infamous talk of 'biting people to death' and habit of calling people herbivores was more than just a habit of speech.

"I'm sure he could handle it if you turned it up," suggested Setsuna. She was eating without needing to be told to for once, though that might have been because she was the one to bring the food today. She reassured Hotaru and Haruka that she hadn't been the one to make them and true to her word, they were delicious. "Saya-san seems to be of the opinion that he could use a challenge."

Haruka wasn't the only one to have interactions with the Hibari Clan, though hers were the most violent. Setsuna often had tea with Hibari Kyoya's mother, the former shrine maiden and second wife of the clan head. She lived outside Namimori, in the main house, and enjoyed Setsuna's company. Setsuna said that Hibari Saya had an interest in fashion that resonated with her own tastes.

With a huffing sound, Haruka cracked her neck. "She'd be right. I keep raising the level, and he keeps catching up."

The small smile that had been playing at Setsuna's lips dropped. "What?"

Haruka jerked her neck to the other side, releasing another cracking sound. She sighed, and not just in relief.

"He's a genius at fighting," she said bluntly. "It's nothing I won't be able to handle as Sailor Uranus, but eventually – two years, maybe more or less depending on what else he learns in that time – he'll surpass me in civilian form."

Hotaru gaped. Haruka noticed and smirked.

"Don't worry," she added. "He's not the only one learning from the fights."

Then Haruka scowled, because even if Hibari was a genius, even if she was learning from her clashes and becoming a better fighter from the experience, it still didn't change the fact that Hibari was in _middle school_.

Still, that was impressive. Hotaru mentally raised the danger level of Hibari up some more.

Between him and Takeshi and the baseball team, Namimori Middle would probably be safe from any dangers.

But then again, Hibari himself could be a type of danger. She hoped Takeshi and Tsuna didn't end up getting hurt by him.

* * *

It was a little late, but his dad finally got the chance to meet Tsuna. As they cleaned up the shop, Takeshi let his eyes slide over to his old man, methodically wiping down the boards just like he did every night, after closing shop.

When Hotaru met Tsuna, she had been surprised, but then warmed up immediately. He might have been a little jealous before at how fast she opened up, but now, knowing it was in part because of him, he could just enjoy how his friends got along with each other.

His dad's reaction hadn't been like that at all. He ended up relaxing, and there was a light of approval in his eyes towards Tsuna by the time they left, but at the start he had been wary and on-guard even behind the welcoming smile, Takeshi knew that as well as he knew baseball.

"Dad," he began, and then pressed his lips shut. What if his dad told him not to hang out with Tsuna anymore?

Tsuna wasn't his first friend, but he was special. It wasn't just owing him his life, it was just that Tsuna was –

What was the word? Comfortable? Right? Fun? Reliable?

The more time they spent together the more Takeshi wondered how he had never noticed things about Tsuna that were so blatantly obvious. How he had the funniest reactions to things, but also how his worries were for others when it came down to it over his own concerns. How he was reluctant most of the time, but threw himself into things when he had to get into it like he was willing to stake his life on it.

It was just so him that everything – the things that were special – were so obviously great it was too obvious, hidden in plain sight.

Tsuna was Tsuna.

Reading into his hesitation, his father put down the cloth. "Takeshi," he said knowingly, and Takeshi didn't know why he had even bothered trying to hide it from his dad when he noticed everything. "Do you like spending time with Tsuna?"

Takeshi nodded. It was fun, having friends at school. Nothing against Hotaru or Haru – especially Hotaru – but he liked to move, be active. The mafia game gave him something he felt good at, something he could actively move and sweat and feel the pleasant strain of exertion in. It was loud and crazy and –

It was fun. It was even better because he knew the kind of person Tsuna was, and every time he kept proving that he was really the kind of person that would approach someone who was just a classmate to tell him he shouldn't die, that his efforts were noticed and worth something, that he was truly an amazing person so he should live.

It was fun, how Tsuna worried about him – but in a way that was different from Hotaru or Haru.

Tsuyoshi smiled. Takeshi saw the lines deepen around his dad's eyes. He was nearly his dad's height, and both were taller than the average Japanese man, but his dad always looked big to his eyes in more than just height. Like a giant he couldn't overcome or surpass. It was likely that Takeshi would never be able to see his dad as anything less than a giant, even if he were to grow taller than him.

"Then that's good enough," Tsuyoshi decided.

He had just gotten his dad's approval, to keep being friends with Tsuna.

Relief filled his chest, warmth spreading through and relaxing his posture. "Thanks, Dad," Takeshi whispered.

* * *

AN: It was mentioned in Daily Life III that Haruka had a new hobby. That hobby is sparring with Hibari. It started a few days after the outers moved to Namimori, when Hibari ran into Haruka and realized she was strong. He picked a fight, she just defended herself, and property damage happened.

Michiru was at a concert so Setsuna went to talk with the legal guardian, and ended up becoming friends with Hibari's mother, who then suggested that Hibari and Haruka spar together because that would be fun. Haruka went along with it because the kid does have talent, she'll admit that.

·˳ ⁎˚

Tsuyoshi: *despairing at his son's new friends being dangerous people* son why could you not bring more friends like Hotaru or Haru, harmless ones?

Hotaru: *capable of ending the world with a single swing of the Silence Glaive, Soldier of Destruction and Death, arguably one of the most powerful people on this planet*

Tsuyoshi: *not aware of the above* the gods are laughing at me.

Hotaru: *technically a goddess of death / doing no such thing* "Achoo!"

·˳ ⁎˚

 _Votes_ are in! The winner is Mukuro, who got 9 votes. Second place was Chrome, with 4. Guess it's just canon that Hotaru's popular with Mist Flame Users. I'll bring this up again when we hit 100 reviews on both sites.

Sweet Dreams~


	22. Daily Life VII

"Bye, Setsuna-mama!" Hotaru called as she stepped out.

Setsuna looked up from the scrolls she'd been reading and taking note of. Lately she had been doing a lot of that, going over scrolls from Charon Castle and borrowing materials from the other castles.

"Have fun," she called back. "And wish Haru good luck for me!"

For all that Midori was considered an elite school by both people with and without relations to the school, it could also be rather easygoing, as seen in the case when Hotaru was permitted to go with Haru to Namimori Middle for the interschool competition.

"I told you Ms. Kobayashi would be all for it," Haru said, excited to have Hotaru with her today.

She hadn't been kidding. Haru and Ms. Tohoku redirected Hotaru to the vice principal who not only agreed to let her skip the rest of the school day in exchange for going to cheer on the gymnastics club, but actively encouraged it.

"Show school spirit and make sure our girls don't feel alienated on foreign territory!" had been Ms. Kobayashi's exact words, though Hotaru would have sworn on the names of her princesses that there had been a fire blazing behind the usually calm woman.

Hotaru hadn't dared tell the vice principal that they were still in the same town, that Namimori Middle was hardly foreign territory that would make them feel alienated.

The school was a lot quieter, without the athletic festival. All the students were in-class now, or at least not making a ruckus, and there were no audiences like there had been back then.

It figured that even the Namimori Junior High, infamous in the town for being loud, couldn't be _that_ rambunctious every day.

Just when Hotaru thought that, the relative peace and calm shattered with the screams of a crying child.

Hotaru paused in confusion because that didn't sound right, but Haru's ears seemed to perk, and she dashed off much to the chagrin of the coach.

"Hey, Miura!"

"I'll go get her," she reassured the coach, and hurried after her.

"What are you doing?!" Haru shouted from behind the corner. Luckily, she hadn't gone that far. Hotaru turned to find a small clearing of space between buildings – where Takeshi, Tsuna and Gokudera were, along with a crying Lambo.

The latter was clearly the source of the unexpected sound at the school.

"Haru?! Hotaru-san?!" Tsuna's voice rose, flabbergasted. Hotaru waved. From behind, where he was crouching in front of a crying Lambo, Takeshi waved back. "What are you doing at our school?"

"Are you transferring in?" Gokudera asked – was that a _cigarette_ between his lips?!

"Are you smoking?" Hotaru asked instead, despite knowing perfectly well that her eyes were working fine. No wonder he was the ear lobe, if he was exposing the 'boss' to the dangers of second-hand smoke. And at school, too.

He ignored her, but that was fine, she didn't want to really talk to the smoking ear lobe either.

"We're not transferring. I'm here for the interschool gymnastics competition," Haru explained, and while her volume had lowered, she was still glowering at the boys, furious.

"I'm here to cheer her on," Hotaru added, just in case they got the wrong idea and thought she was into gymnastics. Also, go Haru.

"And just when I find Tsuna-san he's making Lambo-chan cry!" Haru crossed the distance quickly to pick up Lambo. Hotaru hurried after her and peered at him. His left cheek was a bit red and starting to swell, as if he had been struck in the face.

Which . . . wasn't something any of them would do. An accident, maybe.

A flame sparked in Haru's eyes, and Lambo still crying in her arms she turned towards Tsuna and Gokudera – and Reborn, though Hotaru hadn't noticed him at first – to proclaim her fury and scold them. "Haru can't believe you made such an innocent child cry!"

"Actually . . ." Takeshi trailed off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "That was me . . ."

Haru didn't hear him, too caught up in her indignation to the point where she had slipped into referring to herself by the third person again, but Hotaru saw the baseball glove lying around, Lambo's red, swelling cheek, and put the pieces together with her own past experiences offering reference. "You forgot to restrain yourself again, didn't you?"

Takeshi laughed, but he had a touch of embarrassment in his usual laugh.

"Think of it like a weapon," Hotaru suggested, because truly, if he ever ran into a monster, Takeshi could fight his way out with nothing but a baseball bat and some baseballs, but he couldn't do that or become a pro baseball player if he had a record for hurting people – however unintentional it was – with his pitches.

"Haru won't forgive anyone who bullies Lambo-chan!" Haru shouted in the back. "Even if it's Tsuna-san!"

They could deal with the misunderstanding later. Hotaru sorted out her priorities, and the one at the forefront currently was keeping Takeshi from getting a criminal record due to accidental assault with a baseball.

"It's a lot of power, so you have to wield it with responsibility and care." For the people he played against, Hotaru had little sympathy. They were baseball players, they had signed up to be on the team, they were clearly crazy for exercise, they could face the terrors that were Takeshi's pitches. As for Takeshi himself she could always fix up any issues that came up with his arm. Consider it as healing practice, as Minako had put it.

A booming sound cut Hotaru off and made her turn around in alarm. What she saw didn't help appease her shock, only multiplied it and added confusion.

Haru was holding – with her arms around his waist, up in the air as if she was presenting him to the sky – a young man who looked older than all of them, with dark wavy hair. The weight was too great for her, and Haru's knees buckled, landing a severe blow to a sensitive area for the man. He yelped and fell forwards onto his hands and knees, while Haru, balance lost, fell backwards.

"Um," Hotaru said, because she didn't really know what else to say. Are you alright? That looks like it hurt. Do you need to see a doctor?

"Hahi?! Who are you?!" Haru shrieked. Oh, that would have probably been a good one to ask, although now the question she wanted to know the answer to was why Haru had been holding him in the first place if she didn't know who he was.

The young man got up, lightly groaning in pain as he muttered something. His eyes landed on Haru, and he seemed to brighten. "It's been a while, younger Haru-san."

Haru's eyes landed on the young man's chest – which was unbuttoned – and she shrieked again, lashing out towards his face. "You pervert! I'll report you for public obscenity!"

"It's for fashion!" the young man cried out after he was slapped, but Haru was already squeezing her eyes shut and covering her burning cheeks.

Fashion? Hotaru looked closer. The cow-print shirt and the striped blazers, sure, he could pull that off, she supposed, and the slacks were the classic black, they were fine, but . . .

"With those shoes?" The words slipped out before she could think them through, looking at the slippers on his feet. They didn't match what he was wearing. Those slippers were the kind of shoes one wore around the house and never outside lest one become excommunicated from fashionable society by anyone with a pair of eyes. The dreaded slippers that went with absolutely nothing, only worked in hideous tandem with stretched-out sweatpants and sweat-stained undershirts. If he wanted to be fashion-conscious, he needed better priorities than just how many buttons were fastened on his shirt.

Takeshi burst into laughter and Hotaru realized she had said that louder than she intended. Luckily, no one else seemed to have heard her, but right now her so-called _friend_ wasn't helping.

"Stop laughing," she said through gritted teeth.

He stopped laughing out loud, but he was still shaking silently and clutching at his stomach. Hotaru felt her cheeks burn and turned her eyes towards the wall of the school.

"Okay," wheezed Takeshi, after it was finally clear from his system. "I'm done – oh, hey."

He reached down to pick up a horn, similar in shape to that of a cow.

"You dropped your horn," he called to the young man, who looked worse for the wear. And she felt bad for saying that about his shoes, but at the same time, wasn't he taking the cow-theme a little too far? Horns? On top of the cow-print? Next he would be wearing cowboy boots. Those, though, would still be a better choice than the slippers he was wearing.

"Please just toss it over," said the young man feebly.

The light in Takeshi's eyes changed, and that wasn't a good sign.

"Wait-" she began, but it was too late.

"Here you go!" In perfect pitcher form – or what she assumed was perfect pitcher form – the horn became a projectile weapon and left Takeshi's hand to cut through the air and strike the young man on his forehead.

Hotaru winced. Maybe she should look into becoming a lawyer, to keep him from going to jail. She could probably manage that with her current grades, if she kept them up. "Takeshi."

"Sorry," he said immediately. It was nice that he realized what the problem was, but . . .

"Maybe say that to the person you just hit in the head, not me."

"Right. Sorry!"

The young man burst into tears. At least it didn't look like he was dead just yet.

Hotaru sighed. She literally only ever set foot on these school grounds to cheer for her friends. Was there something about the school that just brought down injuries for people inside?

Then Hotaru remembered that Namimori Middle School was basically Hibari Kyoya's base of operations and realized that was a very stupid question to be asking herself.

* * *

At this point, Hotaru only dropped by the realtors to see Granny. She had a near-zero expectation of actually finding Kawahira. Michiru and Haruka had given up a long time ago, and Setsuna asked, but more for the sake of something she wanted to inquire about for personal reasons which she didn't share with Hotaru.

Naturally he finally showed up when her expectations were so close to zero, they might as well have been.

"Hey, Hotaru-kun," Kawahira said, waving lazily from his slouched position on the sofa.

Hotaru blinked and rubbed her eyes. No, she wasn't seeing things. He was actually there, grinning behind the thick glasses he insisted on wearing.

"You!" she said, just a few notches short of being shouting volume.

"Me!" Kawahira agreed cheerfully. His clothes were clean and only marginally rumpled, but he had the slobby air of someone who just couldn't look put together, as usual. It was really him.

In that moment she stood at a crossroads. She could get angry at him for not being around, for avoiding her, for not giving her any word –

But, pointed out a dark part. What right did she have to demand anything from him? Because over the months with him avoiding her – avoiding Namimori – she thought that maybe now that she was no longer vulnerable Kawahira would have no reason to meet her anymore. That for all they had known each other as Kawahira Riku and Tomoe Hotaru, their other identities were too great in importance to let the comfortable friendship disappear like mist come the morning sun, as if it had never happened.

After all, if it weren't for those circumstances, they would never have even met and she wouldn't have ever known about him, with his refusal to meet Mamoru.

Some part of Hotaru's inner doubt must have shown on her face, because he rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I've been avoiding you," Kawahira said bluntly, answering a question she had been refraining from blurting out without any fanfare. "I could excuse myself and say I was busy – which I was, make no mistake about it, I'm disgustingly busy and I hate it – but I was avoiding you."

"It's okay," she answered automatically.

Kawahira reached out to flick her forehead. "No, it's not," he said when her reflexes forced her to blink. "You have the right to yell at me or something."

This was so much like back then that Hotaru felt a tightness in her chest. She had missed her parents, her life as a sailor guardian back when she had been under his care, but she had also missed him, and living with Granny. "'Or something'?"

"I don't know," Kawahira said, shrugging. "I'm bad with emotional expression and all that. Do you want to throw things at me?"

Hotaru shook her head.

"Must be cultural differences," Kawahira concluded. "In Italy or Spain angry women were likely to throw things like paperweights, plates and on one rather memorable occasion, a beehive at my head."

He didn't look like he was joking. "A beehive?"

"She liked honey, and we were honey hunting at the time," Kawahira said like it made sense. In a way it did because beehives were where honey came from, except no, it still didn't really make sense, what was she, a bear?

Her legs were starting to hurt. She took a seat in the sofa opposite of him as he yawned, mouth stretching open wide to the point where his face almost seemed to split in half. "Is that what you were busy with? Getting things thrown at your head?"

"I wish," Kawahira said with a frown, letting his eyes slide shut. "More like headhunting for something that might not even be needed if everything goes well, and dealing with the Illuminati. And money." He paused, then grumbled. "Honestly, I would have preferred honey hunting."

The latter was more an afterthought than anything, but this was more detail than he usually gave about what he was up to. Kawahira did look incredibly tired, though. If she put a bowl of ramen before him, he was likely to doze off and plant his face into the broth and noodles and suffocate in them, sleeping like the dead until he actually did die rather than eat them.

Hotaru made up her mind and got on her feet again. He opened one eye, a slit just to see what she was doing, but didn't turn his head as she walked past him. Granny always kept blankets in the room next to the main office, and that hadn't changed even after she moved out.

"Get some sleep," Hotaru told him, unfolding the blanket and draping it over his body. He didn't like sleeping in his room, always preferring to doze on one of the furniture in the parlor or the living room, and it was doubtful he wanted to move right now.

"No more questions?" he mumbled, eyes both shut again.

The first questions that came to mind were things like 'have you been eating' and 'are you alright', not anything about the Silver Millennium or the status of his willingness to contact Mamoru. Whatever questions she had been wanting to ask him before today weren't coming to the front of her mind right now, and they weren't important when Kawahira was blatantly displaying proof of his lacking self-care skills.

"Get some sleep," Hotaru repeated. It wasn't like there was an emergency, or something she needed to know immediately. She could wait.

Kawahira sighed, almost like a surrender.

"Tell you what," he said, eyes still closed. "Let the prince know. Even if he doesn't remember, if he can prove his resolve, I'll meet him and tell him everything he needs to know."

"Prove his resolve?" That was vague. Did he expect Mamoru to write a letter in his own blood, or sever a part of his body? "What do you mean?"

"Can't tell you more than that," he mumbled, words slurring together. Hotaru wondered if this would be considered taking advantage of his tiredness, if he was the one who offered it first. "Just that – if he proves it properly, I'll know."

Then he sighed and repeated his last words as if he wasn't sure whether he had actually said them already. "I'll know."

Hotaru decided he needed actual sleep before she could ask more questions. "I'll come back after you get some sleep."

Though his eyes were still shut, he made a shooing gesture at her with the hand wearing his usual plain ring. "Come back tomorrow. I should be free then."

Hotaru was at the door, sliding it shut, and she barely caught his words over the rough sound of the panel in the frame. "Thanks."

* * *

AN: After serious considerations of future careers in law to keep Takeshi from going to prison or getting a criminal record, Hotaru remembered she had to take Haru back for the competition. When she looked again the young man was gone and Lambo had stopped crying. They were about to part when Reborn made the boys go with her to cheer Haru on because it's not like they personally know anyone on the Namimori gymnastics club, what is this school loyalty you speak of? Haru placed second place.

Kawahira wasn't dealing with the actual Illuminati, just organizations that are a little shady and may or may not give flesh to those outlandish conspiracy theories. It's Kawahira.

You might notice that Kawahira never said why he changed his mind on avoiding Hotaru. Any guesses?

Also new banner on Heroes, wish me luck!

Sweet Dreams~


	23. Daily Life VIII

Resolve. By literal definition it was the determination to do or achieve something. Like all abstract notions, resolve was relative, subjective and immaterial. Asking to prove his resolve was like asking to prove his love to Usagi, or his devotion to helping people as a doctor.

Mamoru pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the 'help' from Acheron, trying to make it easier for him. The additional condition was welcome – it made Mamoru feel like Acheron was also trying to meet him, on the other end.

But as Helios had said, the other guardian's intents were rather mystifying. Prove his resolve? In what? And how?

How would he prove his love for Usagi? Tell her, every day. Show her, with everything that he had. He didn't know how to not love her, and everything that he did in his life when she was around was simply that – an extension of what filled him. His love for Usagi just permeated him, so that it was like his blood ran with his love for her, and there was always a bond to her to his heart and soul.

How would he prove his devotion as a doctor? He had studied, he had earned his degree, and he practiced as a doctor. He cared for his patients, he saw them as the people that they were, and he prayed their health would be strong and carry them to happy lives.

And, three days before Hotaru's message, Mamoru and other doctors had been given a pamphlet at a presentation. A few of his colleagues had thrown theirs away, after it was over, not giving the organization more thoughts because they had no intentions on putting their lives through radical changes. He would have done the same, but something about the thin bindings of paper with basic information had caught his eye, and in the end Mamoru tucked it into his pocket and brought it home, where it stayed on his desk. Such a small thing, but constantly drawing his thoughts to it.

Because he did want to, and the only reason he didn't put it on the list of things that were realistically something he would do was because it would mean being away from Usagi for long periods of time.

Was the timing of the guardian's words a coincidence? Or a sign that he should look at it again?

Resolve.

Mamoru leaned back in his seat and exhaled deeply. He knew Acheron had kept an eye on him for a long time, and he said now that he would know if Mamoru was able to prove his resolve.

A guardian who had lived for centuries, upholding the balance of the world. Even in the present time he travelled the globe, keeping busy. Obviously, Acheron did not trust him enough because Mamoru had not proven himself – or, there was still something he was missing, something he wasn't doing right that kept the guardian busy.

Did the guardian think him pathetic? Mamoru wondered, the doubt that had been planted since Acheron rejected meeting him in person now deeper and darker in his heart. For a prince of Earth to be isolated in one small country, away from the rest of the world.

Japan was a secluded nation, historically isolated due to its geography and culture. It wasn't legally closed off like some nations were in the present times, not physically with the technological advancements in travel, and yet culturally, the society tended to be exclusive to the rest of the world.

Acheron wanted him to remember, or to prove his resolve. He needed to remember his life as a prince of Terra – then, by extrapolation, he needed to prove his resolve as a prince of Terra.

Mamoru reached for the pamphlet.

"Doctors Beyond Borders," he read the letters on the front page aloud, and then opened its pages to the section on how to apply.

* * *

It was a weird day.

Wait, no, that made it sound like he didn't have weird days, and that was a statement that couldn't be further from the truth if he tried, so Tsuna supposed the correct thing to say would be that it was a _weirder_ day than usual. Whenever she saw him Bianchi turned completely still, as if she was playing dead. Lambo was playing hide-and-seek by himself instead of bothering anyone. And just now, Haru nearly shrieked and all but ran away from him before he could say a word.

Tsuna patted his face, wondering if someone – Reborn – had written something on his forehead or put a mask on him. It didn't feel like there was anything on his face, but it was Reborn, so.

"Tsuna-san?"

Tsuna snatched his hand away from his face and turned around. Hotaru stood there, with a curious look and nothing else – no freezing up, no crying out that she was busy and bolting in the other direction, no suspicious behaviour in any way. It was such a normal reaction that it almost felt abnormal today. The only thing remotely unusual about her was the violin case she was carrying.

"Are you shopping for Reborn's birthday gift as well?" she asked before he could ask what brought her here.

Tsuna's mind froze up. "Reborn's birthday?"

Hotaru nodded. "Takeshi told me it was today, and gave me an invitation to his party saying Reborn wanted me there too. Is it okay?" she added, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I was told it would be at your home."

Of course it would be. But more importantly – it was Reborn's birthday? Today?

"Today?!" he shrieked.

A part of his head that wasn't frozen up at the idea of Reborn having something as _normal_ as a birthday remembered that it was his own birthday tomorrow.

Which was great and all, but more importantly, _Reborn's birthday_. _Today_. Which he had not known about, and likely would receive his wrath for even though no one until Hotaru had seen fit to tell him about. Ignorance was no excuse for Reborn.

A little disappointed and a lot terrified, Tsuna clutched at his head. He was going to be murdered on the day before his own birthday for the crime of forgetting an evil baby's, what was his life even.

"I'm going to take that as a no," Hotaru said, reading his answer from his panicked response. "Do you want to come with me? Takeshi said that Reborn was alright with a violin performance," she gestured at the case she was carrying. "But that didn't feel like enough of a gift, so I was going to grab something else as well. I wasn't sure what to get him, but you know him better than I do. We can pick a gift together."

In that moment, Tsuna swore that he saw halos and wings shining with divine light behind Tomoe Hotaru, who was clearly an angel sent from above to save him from Reborn.

On their way to the shopping district, the conversation turned from what Reborn might like to a discussion about zodiacs. Tsuna ended up telling Hotaru that his birthday was tomorrow and flushed a little doing so. It felt a little like a demand that Hotaru do something for his birthday, and that just made him feel like a shameless bastard. Luckily for him Hotaru only nodded coolly at that revelation, sparing him a lot of embarrassment.

"You're both Libras," Hotaru said as they walked down the street. "Under the protection of Venus, the planet of love, beauty and metal."

"I didn't know you were interested in astrology," Tsuna wondered. She didn't seem the type to be looking into daily fortunes based on star signs. She was mostly normal.

Hotaru smiled. It was a secretive smile, almost impish, and Tsuna threw his preconceptions into the trash. She had a playful side, too, it looked like.

"I like celestial objects," she said, like it was an inside joke. "It's a good planet to be protected by – they all are, really, if you get to know them."

"I guess," he said, even though he didn't know all that much about astrology. He hadn't even known he was a Libra, or that he was protected by Venus. It was nice to hear that it was a good planet, since he was a bit far from love and beauty. Metal, maybe, thanks to Reborn and his trigger-happy tendencies.

If he really was protected by the planet of love, he could be using some help with Kyoko.

"Which one are you?" Tsuna asked, curious. He didn't know her birthday, and if she ever invited him over for a party – probably along with Yamamoto – he didn't want to be caught off-guard like he was today. Hotaru probably wouldn't react like Reborn, but Reborn would probably say something like how a mafia boss treated ladies properly and forgetting their birthdays was a crime punishable by death in the Vongola.

That was actually so likely that it made chills crawl up his spine at the very thought.

"My birthday is January sixth, so I'm a Capricorn," she explained for his benefit, since he had no way of telling what date fell into what astrological sign. "Protected by Saturn."

He knew enough to know that was one of the planets in the solar system, and that was about it. "Um, planet of-" dirt? ". . . earth?"

"Good guess," she praised. "But no. The planet of silence and destruction and rebirth."

Tsuna nearly tripped over his own feet. That didn't sound like a good planet to be protected by?! Unless being born under that planet's protection meant immunity to whatever it was planet of – in which case he was screwed. Saved from Reborn and his trigger-happy tendencies, maybe, but with a very bleak future ahead of him.

"It's not all bad," Hotaru assured him when he failed to keep a proper poker face. "Sometimes you can't have hope and rebirth without starting over."

"I guess." Still, a little scary, what with 'destruction' being a thing. "What about Yamamoto-kun?"

"He's a Taurus. So is Haru, by the way. Taurus is also under Venus," she added. "You three have that in common."

And little else, Tsuna thought, but held his tongue.

The first shop they stopped at was the bookstore. Hotaru looked over the fairy tale books with a thoughtful eye, and Tsuna had to stop her lest she be murdered by Reborn for buying such a gift. The books that would be more to Reborn's tastes . . .

Would be mafia-related books, which he'd probably already know like the back of his hand.

Tsuna despaired.

"Maybe not books," he suggested weakly.

Hotaru gamely agreed to his suggestion.

"I mean, we could get a certificate to La Namimorine," she said. "But that seems a little thoughtless, like we didn't put much consideration into it, so I'm thinking of it as a last resort."

"I guess," he said, not exactly the best at coming up with gift ideas but seeing her point. It literally put the value of the gift on what was given, and Tsuna didn't really have money.

"What does he like?" Hotaru asked, peering into the shop window for baby clothes. She seemed to be interested in the pink, frilly dress that was exactly Reborn's size, and Tsuna was reminded that like most of the people in his life, even Tomoe Hotaru, for all that she appeared normal, sometimes wasn't.

At least she didn't bring violence and unnecessary trouble into his life like certain other people.

"Um," Tsuna said. How did one say, 'be sadistic towards a student in the hopes of making him a mafia boss'? Reborn's lessons didn't cover this aspect without pulling the person into the Vongola, which he had no intention of doing in the first place.

What else did Reborn like? Shooting Tsuna. Sadistically making Tsuna suffer. Mama's cooking. Espresso.

That last one might have had a chance.

"Espresso?" he ended the word with a lilt upwards, so that it came out sounding like a question. A better question to ask in general might have been why Tsuna was making the effort to get a gift to the guy putting him through all this torture.

Dumb question, Tsuna knew. For all that Reborn put him through, his coming into Tsuna's life had given it a vibrancy he hadn't even dreamed of.

At the very least, a gift was necessary if only to thank his tutor for bringing the good things into his life.

But seriously – what did Reborn like? What did he like, that Tsuna could get him? Tools? He had Leon – and given that he used anything and everything to put him through torture, Tsuna wasn't sure if he wanted to give him things that would contribute to his pain and suffering.

"That can't be good for someone of his size," Hotaru mumbled, pondering his answer out loud, and Tsuna clapped a hand over his mouth. "He won't grow if he keeps drinking coffee at that age."

Torn between the urge to laugh and tremble in fear, Tsuna shook a little.

"How about espresso cups?" Hotaru suggested, pointing to a shop that sold dishes, from what he could see. Having never been to that shop, Tsuna shrugged and followed her in.

And then promptly regretted it when he saw the price tags. "Um, Hotaru-san."

Those were not price ranges that normal middle school kids could work with. Why were dishes so expensive? They were _dishes_. He broke a lot of them when he was younger, and with Lambo and Bianchi and Reborn living in his house they broke a lot of dishes on a regular basis. Were all plates, bowls and dishes this expensive?

He tried to calculate how much that all was and felt himself grow faint.

"Oh, these are cute," Hotaru exclaimed quietly, making a small gesture to a set with seven cups and matching saucers that came in the color of the rainbow. She didn't even glance at the prices.

Tsuna, who took more than a glance at the price tag for the set, had to bite down a shriek. Seven small cups that could barely fit a few gulps, combined, and the price was too high for it.

"Aren't you too young to be drinking espressos?" asked the lady, a stern, maternal woman, sweeping in with eyes glinting behind her glasses. It was a talent of sorts, to have words worried about health be spoken in such a scary manner.

Hotaru, though, didn't even look phased. "It's a gift for someone who really likes espressos," she reassured the shopkeeper, wisely not bringing up the fact that it was a gift for a baby.

The lady nodded imperiously. "I suppose it's fine then. Do you want me to wrap these?"

"Yes please," Hotaru said before Tsuna could suggest they reconsider. She paid for it at the register without batting an eye at the high cost, and gift in hand, came back.

"There," she said. "Now we have a gift."

We, plural. Tsuna knew what she meant by that.

"Hotaru-san," he protested, but she waved him off and made him hold the package.

"I wouldn't have known to get these if you hadn't told me," she argued. "Besides, I'm tired, Tsuna-san. I had to attend the history club early this morning, I'm not up for further shopping while carrying my violin around with me."

She did look a little tired, now that she mentioned it, so Tsuna didn't argue further and carried the package.

"But next time," he said, unable to not protest entirely.

Hotaru looked satisfied by his answer. Unlike Reborn's satisfied looks, she just looked genuinely happy, and Tsuna didn't feel a chill crawl up his spine at the sight of it. "That's fine with me."

* * *

"I know you said I could just play the violin," Hotaru said, when her turn came up in the ridiculous event Reborn called a Vongolian Birthday Party. She, like Yamamoto, took the threat of death as the penalty for the lowest scoring as a joke. Tsuna wished. "But I also picked up something with Tsuna-san."

Reborn raised an eyebrow and Tsuna did his best to not make eye contact. The theory that Hotaru was an angel sent to save him was starting to gain legitimacy, though, because Reborn didn't start shooting at him immediately.

When their joint gift – the news made Gokudera flail and surprised Yamamoto – was revealed to Reborn, the baby fell silent.

Tsuna, recognizing that to be a Not Good sign, squirmed while Hotaru looked puzzled.

"Do you not like it?" she asked, able to be brave because she didn't know about Reborn's true personality.

Bianchi, frowning, crossed her arms over her chest. "Who chose this?"

"I did," Hotaru said, still looking bemused. "We went to get espresso cups at Tsuna-san's suggestion, and initially I wanted to grab the plain white ones because you can't really go wrong with classics, but then the rainbow-colored ones were so cute I had to grab them."

She dug out the receipt from her pocket, neatly folded. "If you want you can go get it exchanged. I checked their store policy."

Tsuna hadn't even known there was a policy like that, let alone noticed her checking it.

"It's fine," Reborn said shortly. "Seventy-five."

Hotaru nodded at their score and opened her case to take out the violin, but Tsuna couldn't help but remember just how Reborn had frozen at the gift.

For a split second, he had been – mad? Sad? Defensive?

A strong mix of emotions he hadn't been able to define before it was covered up.

With the violin tucked beneath her chin and the bow in the other hand, Hotaru looked at Reborn. "Do you have any requests?"

Reborn leaned in, looking interested while Tsuna sighed in relief.

Well, but he shouldn't have worried about it. His tutor was a lot nicer to the girls. If Tsuna had ever given Reborn something like Haru's gift, he would have been shot once for every target on the outfit to let him experience the 'thrill'. As for Hotaru, Reborn had been willing to not only accept a violin performance as a gift but told her through Yamamoto about it in advance.

"Any jazz songs?"

Hotaru pondered the vague request for a moment before she raised the bow to her violin. "Is 'Fly Me to the Moon' okay?"

"That's fine with me," Reborn said. Hotaru nodded, and began to play.

In all honesty, Tsuna didn't have much of an opinion about violins. He once went to a recital with his mom, and vaguely remembered thinking that the kid performing on stage made the violin sound like a tortured cat. He was hardly musical himself so maybe that was an unfair assessment, but still. Tortured cat.

It was only when he heard Hotaru play now that Tsuna realized the violin was an instrument. As in, something that made music people actually liked to listen to. Not tortured cat sounds.

In the right hands – in hands that knew what they were doing – the results were the furthest thing from a horrible screeching noise. Sound flowed like water, smooth and pleasant to even his ears. Tsuna understood now why people paid a lot of money for expensive lessons or went to concerts to listen to orchestras.

It looked like everyone was enraptured, as if the music had grabbed them all with hands he couldn't see, only hear, and wouldn't let go.

She wasn't even looking at any sheets – it was all just memory, but her movements were smooth, and the bow moved back and forth on the strings while her fingers danced on the slender neck of the violin, coaxing forth a sound that reminded Tsuna, weird as it was, of chocolate. Smooth, rich, entrancing – but for his ear, not his tongue.

Almost too soon, the song came to an end. Hotaru lowered the violin and bow, and gave a small curtsey as Haru – and everyone else – started applauding. Tsuna snapped out of the daze he was in to clap as well.

"A fantastic rendition," praised Reborn. "A solid ninety-five."

Hotaru laughed quietly. "You're too kind."

For once Tsuna actually agreed with Reborn's assessment, because it had been a great performance. And once again, she truly had to be an angel because instead of just sticking to the violin performance, she also brought him along to buy a gift for Reborn.

Maybe this day wouldn't end with the usual hectic shenanigans.

Then Lambo brought out his own gift – something he called a Lambo stick that had no purpose – and predictably, the day ended in the usual fiasco. Lambo cried and threw the grenades he pulled out from his hair, Gokudera shouted and added to the ruckus despite his best efforts, Yamamoto laughed because he still saw it all as a game even as he gently pushed the girls out of danger's way and Reborn, because he was Reborn, came out of it completely unscathed.

As for Tsuna, he ended up spending his thirteenth birthday in the hospital.

* * *

AN: Updating early since I plan on updating this Thursday as well so what's a few hours.

I'm quite partial to Masa Golob's violin cover of 'Fly Me to the Moon' but if you have a favorite of your own you do you.

Also since a few people asked if Mamoru was going to go through a boot camp like Hotaru did, I figured I should first send him away from home to suffer a bit in true Petrichor tradition (readers: Huinari where is your logic).

Kawahira's reaction to Mamoru's thoughts and choice would go a little like this -

In an alternate world where Acheron has a positive opinion of Mamoru: …well, his heart's in the right place… I better make sure he's not in danger.

In an alternate world where Acheron is neutral towards Mamoru: Eh, not a bad idea. Good luck.

In Petrichor, where Acheron dislikes Mamoru for Reasons: *Deep, Frustrated Sigh* I hate this man and the fact that technically I live for him.

Sweet Dreams~


	24. Daily Life IX

When they received the offer, Setsuna didn't oppose sending Hotaru to live with this Acheron, but neither did she fully support it. There were advantages and disadvantages, and she was merely compiling a list of the two to see which would outweigh the other. The stakes – Hotaru's health and wellbeing – were too great to not take that into consideration.

When Acheron requested to speak privately with her, she silently apologized to Mamoru and went to meet him at the designated location, an office at a three-story building in Tokyo.

"A pleasure, Princess Pluto," greeted the man. Her first impression of him was underwhelming. He appeared as the definition of unremarkable, what with his white hair lacking luster, glasses covering a plain pair of eyes that failed to shine brightly, and mundane clothing draped over a body seemingly made of skin and bones and little else. "Please, sit."

Almost _too_ underwhelming. She couldn't even sense a trace of magic of any kind from him, or from the office – nearly empty, save for two sofas and a coffee table in between. Either he lacked magical talent, or he was very good at hiding it. Setsuna would have bet everything she had that it was the latter.

"Guardian," she returned his greeting, slightly wary as she sat in the sofa he gestured towards. Only once was she seated did he sit in the sofa opposite of her. "Likewise, though I did not know of your existence until recently."

He smiled lazily, and it was not an expression that inspired trust but rather the opposite. "I tend to try and keep it that way. I dislike attention or stepping into the spotlight. Were it not for the circumstances, I don't believe I would have made myself known."

The circumstances, of course, being Hotaru's current condition.

"May I ask why you requested to speak with me, and not your prince?" Not the man he was closer to, in theory. The man he should have had a stronger connection to, instead of her.

The man shrugged. "You are her legal guardian, not Chiba Mamoru."

He said his prince's name so casually, as if it bore no weight upon his lips. Setsuna narrowed her eyes. "Then why bother offering us your aid?"

Helios had not recommended his fellow guardian out of whim. He had done so with the permission of Acheron to mention his name, his existence to all the sailor scouts and the prince, who would never have known about him had this not happened.

Why not stay entirely out of his life, then? Why step in for Hotaru? What was he seeking to gain?

Acheron met her eyes dead on.

"Guilt is a powerful motivator."

Guilt?

That single word threw Setsuna off-balance.

The man nodded at the bewildered look in her eyes.

"Chiba Mamoru lost his parents in a car accident on his sixth birthday. Kino Makoto's parents died in an airplane crash when she was ten years old." His eyes were blank of emotion, and his words weren't mournful or bore the submissive respect that usually came when discussing the deceased. He was merely recounting facts, not attaching emotions. It was almost doubtful if he had any emotions towards them. "Tell me, is it usual for orphans to grow up the way they did?"

While it was true that both were orphans, neither of them ever struggled financially. From what she knew of their backgrounds, both had legal guardians until they were of age and were never strapped for money. Just the presence of a caring parent, or a caretaking adult directly in their lives.

Money. Legal guardianship. Protection – impersonal as it was. Enough to assure the biggest threat to Mamoru and Makoto was loneliness. Not hunger, not illness, not a lack of shelter, not crime.

"It was you," Setsuna realized. Not insurance money or parents that had prepared for the worst-case scenario, as both Mamoru and Makoto had assumed.

"I have been involved in your lives for longer than you might think," he answered mildly, like someone describing the color he wanted to paint his house. "I checked each one of your births, your circumstances and families, and kept track of your lives. Through associates and third parties, I made sure that the prince would not be lacking monetarily or be endangered when his parents of this life passed away in his childhood. I did the same for the princess of Jupiter when her parents passed in an accident."

And he still had not revealed himself, or, from what he implied, directly ever met them until now.

His eyes met hers directly. "When yours passed away, I did not interfere, because you went to live with your grandfather."

Setsuna forced herself to not react, but there was a tenseness in her shoulders she felt all too acutely that moment.

"I may not act with the intent to harm the prince," Acheron stated. "Or the sailor soldiers reborn on this planet, though if I see fit, I may aid them. It is a part of the alliance established when the Silver Millennium fell."

Queen Serenity, wise and kind even after her sacrifice. The inside of Setsuna's throat tightened.

"Be that as it may," she pressed, because he did not sound regretful speaking of _how_ he had aided Mamoru or Makoto. "What does that have to do with guilt?"

Ami's parents were divorced, but her mother was still in her life. Minako had both parents, though she wasn't on the best of terms with them. Rei's mother had passed away years ago and she strongly disliked her father, but she lived happily with her grandfather at the Hikawa Shrine.

Setsuna didn't need to go further to realize the connection and the meaning behind his words. One of the sailor soldiers had been in the custody of a dangerous person, in need of help, yet had never received it until she died and was reborn. The very same girl the elusive guardian had finally revealed himself for.

"When the princess of Saturn was suffering," Acheron said, confirming her hypothesis. "I could do nothing. The Death Busters were corrosive by their very nature, and the foreign crystal they brought set a boundary I couldn't enter. She was out of my reach."

He didn't say anything further, but he didn't have to. She remembered the Death Busters.

"You offer aid, out of guilt?" Setsuna filled in the blank. She could unfortunately understand the feeling.

When she, Uranus and Neptune had realized that Saturn, for all her considerable power, was also one of them, that her duty was terrible and forced her to give so much, to _bear_ so much, Pluto had been wracked with guilt. They, the soldiers of the outer solar system, should have understood.

Pluto had especially felt the guilt. She of all of them should have understood sooner, before the answer was spoon-fed to them at the final moment. Saturn was so very much like her, down to even the nature of their powers, and she had cursed herself for being so blind to what should have been obvious.

Instead she had let fear cloud her eyes and worked to kill her fellow soldier. She, like Uranus and Neptune, had known just what a terrible crime it was, and had been ashamed of what they were about to do even before learning of Saturn's feelings and duty. Then, they all watched as Saturn threw herself into the Tau Star System with Pharaoh 90, sacrificing her own life before anyone else's.

Guilt had been a strong motivator in taking in Hotaru, returned to the form of a baby, and starting a family. Love soon overtook the guilt, gave them the sense of family and belonging they had craved desperately, but Setsuna could not deny that at the start, there had been much remorse and a fiery desire to atone for their harsh and rash condemnations.

Acheron sighed. "I thought myself free of that irksome emotion, but yes."

It shouldn't have been reassuring to hear he thought himself free of guilt, the implication being that he no longer cared, but it was also a relief – that he did, in fact, care if he felt it now.

"Can I trust you with my daughter?" she asked at last. If he spoke truly, then he had a reason to keep Hotaru safe.

Setsuna wanted to know if she could trust him with Hotaru's wellbeing. Not as a sailor soldier, not as the princess of Pluto.

As a mother.

"I realize," he said frankly. "That I've not given proof for trust, and that it is a hard thing to earn. Perhaps this will help appease your worries in me."

Acheron raised the ringed hand to his forehead. With a blaze of light, a symbol etched between his brows.

A circle, divided into four equal parts, proof of the origin of his magic. Setsuna's breath caught at the revealed symbol of Terra. Indigo mist surrounded them, and from the fog rose circles of script, lazily orbiting around the two of them like a satellite. A brief glance told her it was a language of magic, long forgotten in the present times.

Oaths. Bindings. A contract to enforce whatever words would be spoken inside, with heavy consequences should they be broken.

"I, Acheron," he began, and every word manifested into a script to join the circle orbiting him already. "Swear to the Golden Kingdom of the past, the Golden Crystal of the Royal Family of Terra, and to Sephira, the leader of the guardians after the fall of the Silver Millennium and the Golden Kingdom, that while she is in my care the princess of Saturn will be in good hands. Furthermore, I swear that everything I've said so far is the truth, and that I will never speak falsehoods to the princess of Saturn, or any of the sailor soldiers of the solar system."

Setsuna felt the stir of magic now, golden light pulsing from the symbol at his brow, and an indigo mist swirling around the two of them. The distant sound of chanting filled her ears, and knew there was an oath being bound by a powerful force before her now.

"Should I break my vows," he said. "May my remaining existence be one filled with nothing but eternal torment and torture, so that death becomes a mercy and hell a reprieve of my suffering."

The words finished and thicker than when he started, the script circled around him one last time. With a flash of light, it faded away, as did the symbol of Terra between his brows. The thick mist was the last to disappear, and once more nothing seemed out of the ordinary – just the two of them in the room, sitting opposite each other on cheap furniture.

As if everything that had happened was just a midsummer night's dream.

"Shall I swear on the Styx?" he quipped when she didn't say anything, almost sarcastic and biting.

"That won't be necessary," she said quietly. There was still much about him that she didn't know, and he certainly wasn't willing to make other things clear, but he had offered his own proof for trust. ". . . Thank you."

Acheron shrugged, letting it go without argument, and with a wave of his hand restored the glamor. Once more there was little outstanding about his appearance, and if he were to walk into a crowd, he would not draw eyes for spectacular reasons. There were no signs of his magical abilities anywhere, none of the distant chanting, like a funeral rite, in her ears or the indigo mist.

Before she left, he spoke up.

"If the prince wishes to meet me," he warned. "He will have to remember. I've sworn that I won't unless he remembers."

That was non-negotiable, it was clear.

As someone who cared about the prince, it was tragic to Setsuna how he would not meet Mamoru, but now that firm stance also partially reassured her. He had sworn to take care of Hotaru, and if he carried out that oath as strongly as he carried the others, Setsuna could trust him to look after Hotaru properly.

Years later, she had a different reason for wanting to speak to him, though Setsuna suspected there might be a correlation due to the similarity in the problem she faced. He didn't meet her in person again, but he did promise – through Hotaru – that he would call when he finally returned.

"I suppose you're calling about the curse you've witnessed?" were the words that greeted her from the other end.

Setsuna wasn't even surprised at this point. It also made things easier. Saya, after her first meeting with Fon, requested that Setsuna not speak about him to others.

"He's my brother," the matriarch of the Hibari Clan had said, and while the words were simple the old look in her eyes had made it clear there was a long story, the sad, dark kind that all families tended to have etched on the bones of the skeletons in the closet.

But if Acheron knew, then there was no point on beating around the bush.

"Good to speak to you again," she said, out of courtesy.

"And you. The curse is something I've witnessed over generations. It appears on a handful of people, in the form of the pacifier-like jewel you've seen, and reverts the bearer to an infant form. Well," he amended. "Turns them into infants with biological differences from actual infants, or what they looked like as infants."

Which would explain why Fon was different from regular babies. While she would never call herself an expert on infants – Hotaru was just a little too special to be considered 'regular' – there had been things odd about him, other than the blatant stone he wore.

"It was like a parasite," Setsuna spoke lowly. The stone was leeching his life from him, slowly but surely. The first time she met Fon, when Saya introduced them, it had been his time that caught her attention because it bore similarities to how Hotaru's had been when her biological time was frozen. A few minor differences, namely the stone that was attached to him like a brand that was clearly the cause, but overall it was obvious that his time was frozen to an infant body, no matter how mature his mind.

And yet she hadn't dared to even _touch_ the stone. It was fragile, held together delicately like a house of cards, and one wrong move on her part would result in it collapsing – and ripping out his entire lifeforce with it.

Like a knife embedded in the stomach, slowly leaking out blood and the only thing keeping the victim from bleeding out immediately being, ironically, the very knife that had stabbed him. The pacifier was both the weapon and the agent applying pressure.

If she just undid it, if she so much as touched it wrong, she would have killed him.

Much like his name, Fon came and went like the wind, and Saya had no qualms about her baby brother doing so, confirming Setsuna's hypothesis that his true age was greater than his form.

"I suppose that's an apt way to describe it," agreed Acheron. "It does not leave the bearer until all the life has been drained from the host."

She felt the blood leave her face. "There is no cure?"

There was a pause on the other end, and then a very heavy sigh. It was the most emotion the guardian had ever expressed, and while Setsuna knew that as Kawahira he took care of Hotaru, and her daughter was genuinely fond of the man, it was surprising to see proof of that directly.

It was a sound filled with aged grief that never truly did go away, just dulled with the passing of time.

"It's robbed me of three dear friends and twenty-six nieces, nephews, godsons and goddaughters," he said hollowly. "And each time I could do nothing but watch them die."

She pressed a hand over her mouth.

"So no, Princess Pluto, there is no cure. Have you ever exerted any of your power around him?"

The mercurial change in subject, as well as the business-like tone he took on immediately with the shift, made her blink before remembering what Hotaru said – that he didn't like being honest with his emotions. "No. I didn't think it was a good idea."

"Very wise of you. The bearers of the curses are in a state similar to how Hotaru-kun was. Not nearly as serious, but if they were to be exposed to you while transformed, or the power of the sailor crystals, it wouldn't end well. Think the myth of the poor mortal princess Semele, who saw the glory of a god unmasked and perished for it."

She frowned at the metaphor. "What if the prince or the princess were to help them?" The power of the Golden or Silver Crystal, perhaps, could –

Acheron answered with a question of his own. "Did it help Hotaru-kun?"

No. It had actually exacerbated the problem, when Usagi and Mamoru tried. It was a case of the treatment being too severe to bear, and had to be stopped.

"But it's not the same," Setsuna protested. The people he spoke of might have been cursed, but they were not sailor soldiers, that she knew, and he said himself that the curse was one that drained the bearer's life. It couldn't be solved like Hotaru's. Time was not on their side here. "Surely-"

"Princess Pluto," spoke the guardian, interrupting her. "I'm usually of the opinion that personal businesses are not mine to dig into, but I grow curious. What makes you so invested in this, to the point where you seem willing to expose the prince and the princess to potential danger?"

That question, innocent as it was, silenced her, as if her mind was a chalkboard filled with writing and he had run an eraser through the words, rendering the remaining information on it useless.

His question was fair, though. If Setsuna asked, Usagi and Mamoru would be eager to help, Usagi especially, but it could expose them to danger. She didn't question the strength of her future queen, but curses were vile things, and needed only the smallest room to take root.

For the sake of . . . a friend. An adult man trapped in the form of an infant, who was more filled with self-doubt about being a parent than anything else. A calm spirit with wise eyes and listening ears. A confidant who she enjoyed speaking with.

A person who looked at her with respect and acknowledged her strengths – even if he only knew her as a mother with a daughter.

 _Was that really all?_

"Well, I didn't expect an answer, so it's fine," Acheron said before she could reply, either to him or to the question that had come up in her mind, a voice of doubt and suspicion that made her freeze. "I know you mean well, Princess Pluto, but as someone who's been fighting this curse for a thousand years, believe me when I say this – no one wants it gone more than I do, and the last thing I want to see is babies exploding. Once was more than enough for me."

She didn't like it, but he was right. And she had been poking at subjects sensitive to him. "I understand. My apologies."

"No need for apologies, you meant well," he said, words bland. "But – it is the dawn of a new era we happen to be on the cusp of. Miracles might not be impossible. I haven't yet given up on finding a way to get rid of the curse, and a gut feeling tells me it might not be just a pipe dream."

The words felt like an olive branch. It was odd to hear such a monotonous voice try to comfort her.

He seemed to think so as well, because his next words were hurried, almost like he was embarrassed. "I'll let you know if I find out something new about the curse. Have a good day."

With that he hung up.

Setsuna pressed at her temple, feeling the headache throbbing. Then, ignoring the pain, she pulled out the tomes she had borrowed from Mercury.

She wasn't giving up just yet, either.

* * *

The tatami floor of the manor his sister lived in was beginning to grow familiar to him, as was the living room and the guest room she set aside specifically for him. Fon tapped a small finger against his cup of tea, quietly reminiscing about how – and why – he had come to Japan so frequently that he was beginning to find this house familiar. Not just familiar to his memory or senses, but familiar in the sense that he was able to find comfort in it. To acknowledge it as a space not foreign to him.

Almost like a home, away from his secluded hut in the middle of the mountains.

It was unfortunate, Fon thought, draining the cup of its cooling contents to hide his face, that he only realized this now that he had made up his mind to stay away from ereh.

"I see," Setsuna said, after taking several moments to compose herself. After he broke the news, she had looked distressed. More shaken up than Fon had seen her, ever since he had dropped by to visit his sister and ask her for advice regarding I-Pin, only to intrude on a guest visiting for a talk over tea.

Perhaps 'distressed' was too weak a word to use. When he said, after steeling his heart and gritting his teeth and pulling in every bit of self-discipline he had honed over his years of living, both before and after the curse, that this was the last visit he would make to Namimori in the foreseeable future, Meiou Setsuna, a woman he would have called grace incarnate, had dropped her cup and ignored the spilled contents to stare at Fon in wide-eyed shock, lips parted but no words able to come out.

Fon nearly changed his mind then and there, a little elated that he was not the only one who would miss these quiet talks, and that she apparently did care about them enough to look so afflicted.

Reality slapped him back into his senses, when he saw out of the corner of his eye his hands, small and delicate and a baby's.

He couldn't be selfish, though. He had already been selfish, taking in I-Pin when he first found her, and his choice had nearly ruined her. He was fixing it now, giving his student – his _daughter_ – the best he could offer, giving her a chance to make a choice instead of condemning her to a path. He was not allowed to ruin it again, or to drag the woman before him into his mess of a life.

All dreams had to come to an end. And Fon already lived and breathed in a nightmare he knew deep down would only end with his death.

Death, end, disappearance – whether he died of natural causes despite his unnatural curse, or disappeared without a trace like Luce had over a decade ago, Fon knew his end was coming, and that it would, like what remained of his life, not be something he wanted to expose to more people than absolutely necessary.

He couldn't be selfish, couldn't be greedy. Fon suppressed his wishes and put up a calm front.

The turmoil sank behind a poker face, but there was still a strain around her eyes.

"If you ever need help," Setsuna said at last, digging out a business card from her wallet. She turned it around so that the neat texts faced the table and wrote in elegant letters that suited her additional contact information. "For anything."

She held his gaze, and a light flickered in her garnet eyes. Fon felt, for one wild moment of suspension, that even if it was something as wild as being pursued by the triads, she would still help him.

Ridiculous of him, he knew an instant later.

Setsuna pushed the card to him, and he picked it up. It was a business card, the average size, but the stiff paper was still bigger than his hand.

Fon didn't often feel pathetic. He was trained by his mother with his sister, who never went easy but also acknowledged the potential for strength they had, and when he became an adult he found that he truly was strong.

Even when he was cursed into his current form, he had sought ways to break the curse, but also trained so that he could recover his skill even as he was. There had been no time to dwell on self-hatred or wallow in pity for himself. If he was helpless in one area, then he would strive to make up for his weaknesses with his strengths.

But right now, Setsuna's kindness warmed Fon as much as it made him forlorn. It was by no fault of hers, and every bit his.

And that was really all someone like Fon could ever ask for, from a woman like her.

"Thank you," he said instead, hiding what he felt. He knew right then that he could never contact her, lest he dare hope for more.

* * *

After the 'misunderstanding' was cleared up, I-Pin came to live in the Sawada household. Reborn could see Tsuna despair, but that wasn't his problem.

As expected from a student raised by Fon, I-Pin was skilled in the martial arts, though nowhere near as impressive as her explosive abilities.

Now that he had seen them himself, he recognized the driving force behind them to be Sun and Storm Flames. Fon theorized that the Sun Flames fueled the already-volatile nature of the storm attribute within her, and the result was an explosion. Reborn agreed with his assessment, after observing it. Her mental state would determine its trigger.

Fon didn't share how he had found I-Pin, but for someone so young to be a Flame user, uncontrolled as it was, meant she couldn't have had it easy.

That acknowledgement was all the pity Reborn allocated towards I-Pin. In the end, there were only two reasons why she was entering Tsuna's life; because of who her master was, and because she could be useful for his student's growth.

Fon landed next to him, steps light like a butterfly in the way only a master of his own body could be. Even the curse had never stopped Fon from reclaiming mastery and discipline over his movements, though he now lacked the power behind them.

"Satisfied now?" Reborn asked his fellow Arcobaleno.

"As much as I could be," replied Fon, eyes fixed on his student. "Though I don't understand why it was necessary to trick I-Pin into thinking the picture was of a target, rather than a person to find and stay with."

There hadn't even been a lie needed. All Fon had done was give her the picture, provided by Reborn, and told I-Pin to find him. That she assumed he was a target had reaffirmed Fon's belief that this was the best thing he could do for his student.

Far different from Reborn's methods, though that was by necessity and the differences in their goals. Fon looked to find a way to get his student out of the dark world she had been pulled into by association with him.

Reborn was preparing his student to survive when he finally pushed him into the world where the darkest desires of humanity came together.

Was it paradoxical that Fon looked at Reborn's student and thought he would be able to give I-Pin what Fon hadn't been able to? Not Reborn, the world's greatest hitman, one of the Seven Strongest, but the boy known as Dame-Tsuna?

On paper, yes, but Reborn was Tsuna's tutor. He knew what Fon had caught a glimpse of, what he had discerned from his student.

Fon had, after all, been one of the wisest of all the Arcobaleno, second only to Luce.

"The idiot needs to learn to see threats in even the most unlikely of people," Reborn said. The world he was going to push Tsuna into wasn't kind, not even to children. Youth was something to be taken advantage of, not protected. Young hitmen of I-Pin's caliber were rare, but death didn't need much to come. A stray bullet, a poison slipped in at the right moment, a bomb attached to a body and detonated nearby.

Judging by how Tsuna treated Lambo and Bianchi, that was unlikely. Two hitmen who had earned their titles in blood and he still looked at them like people. Weird people, certainly, but not hitmen.

Not murderers.

Not even the world's greatest hitman was given the fear and respect the title should have invoked, so Reborn knew that was unlikely, but still. Tsuna needed to learn to see potential threats to his life.

Because the world wasn't going to change, so if Tsuna wanted to survive it, then _he_ had to.

The world's greatest hitman had his work cut out for him. Half-heartedly, he shot a flat look towards his fellow Arcobaleno for dumping even more work for him onto his already-significant list of things he needed to go through. Naturally, it slid off Fon like water off a duck.

Reborn lost all motivation after that calm, curious glance he returned. There wasn't even a reaction to enjoy, like with Colonnello or Lal. Fon just rolled with the pokes. Sometimes he wasn't even aware he had been poked, the dense idiot.

"Inform me in advance when you come to visit your student," he said instead. What business Fon had here before, Reborn could guess. Hibari Saya's face was familiar to him, though her name was new now. But now that his student was technically in Reborn's care, and Reborn had a student of his own to protect, Fon needed to let him know in advance.

"You need not worry, Reborn. I will not come back to Namimori after this," said Fon, voice gentle as always, as if he wasn't leaving his five-year old student in the care of what was essentially the eye of a storm.

But then again, the martial artist had always been good at accepting what came, fluid as the wind that was his name and adaptable.

"Not even for the lady?" Reborn joked. When they had first turned to babies, Fon's lead into how to undo the curse had been to look into his family history. Tales of his ancestors, born into a family that had one foot set in a world of supernatural creatures, some of them singled out for being 'strong' and cursed to lose their strength by changing shapes into the weakest form possible had been shared, but there had been no records of any ever having been cured.

At the time a young woman, barely out of girlhood but with the eyes and mannerisms of someone far older, almost identical in face to Fon had aided the research, uncovering a possible connection to the Vongola before disappearing from Reborn's range of sight and informants to follow her own leads.

He hadn't seen her again until meeting the wife of the Hibari Clan head to discuss his staying in the town to teach the next don of the Vongola, and possibly recruit some of its residents as the next generation of guardians. She looked far too young to have been the same person from nearly thirty years ago, but Reborn didn't believe for one second that it was a mere conclusion or a family resemblance, not when she smiled knowingly and all but admitted – albeit in roundabout words – that it was good to see him again.

He'd met Talbot, after all, in his search for a way to solve the curse, heard from Timoteo himself that the wizened old man was from Vongola Primo's time, despite the ridiculous age that would make the retired metalsmith. And while Reborn was and still is of the belief that the greatest, darkest evils in this world were that of humanity's greed, he also saw things literally inhumane, that did not make sense by conventional rules. He had become a part of something unnatural himself.

A woman that aged slowly was hardly something shocking.

And she had been surprisingly – almost _suspiciously_ – willing to cooperate, so long as they 'provided a challenge' for her son. Hibari Saya, as she called herself now, even gave permission, speaking on behalf of the Hibari Clan, for them to recruit Hibari Kyoya into the Vongola if said boy wanted.

What Reborn expected from Fon was another quote about inevitable partings, or children always having to leave their homes to grow stronger. Some wise philosophical response, hardly a fun reaction.

What Reborn got was Fon choking, and he nearly got whiplash in turning his head to check that yes, that was Fon, yes, he had choked in surprise because Reborn had caught him off-guard with that comment, and _by the gods_ , Fon was blushing.

 _Fon_ was _blushing_. This was not an illusion.

There was a woman of _some_ interest to Fon, other than his sister. In Namimori.

A wicked smirk spread across his face. If it had been Skull or Lal it might have been easy, almost too easy, to find out who. Actually, it wouldn't even be a challenge with Lal, because everyone knew except Colonnello.

But Fon? A worthy challenge, and finally, decades of knowing each other later, Reborn had a way to guarantee an actual reaction other than his usual calm response from him.

This was just too good.

"I must get going," Fon said, Lichi making anxious sounds on his shoulder as he rose hastily. Fun killer.

* * *

AN: After this chapter if you go back and read Daily Life 6 you might find foreshadowing there.

Finally, the conversation Setsuna and Kawahira had is revealed, as well as part of the reasons for why Kawahira's nice to Hotaru when he doesn't like Mamoru. It's not the whole reason, but it's part of it.

Kawahira: There, they've been provided for. They're covered legally and financially.

Makoto, Mamoru: *Lonely, socially unsupported, mourning and scared*

Kawahira: Eh, aren't we all. Not my problem.

.

Hibari Saya: *makes a new friend she knows is her brother's type* *deliberately plans teatime so that Fon will drop by while Setsuna's over* *this is so unlike me to play matchmaker but it's for my baby brother's happiness*

Fon: *full of self-doubt and loathing because he's an Arcobaleno* I'm not coming back please take care of my adopted daughter.

Hibari Saya: You f***ing idiot.

.

Setsuna: Well, at least I can still keep observing Fon for clues on how to break his curse.

Fon: *has a crush on Setsuna but is digging a hole because of the curse she's trying to break* I have to leave… I guess this is goodbye…

Setsuna: щ(゜ロ゜щ)

Sweet Dreams~


	25. Daily Life X

Haru was away for Haru Appreciation Day, and for shopping with Tsuna. Setsuna was throwing herself into work, be it the old books or her job, and since the house was going to be empty, Hotaru went to visit Kawahira instead of going with Haru. She left them with the excuse that she had a different shop she preferred to patronize. It wasn't a lie because she did prefer Makoto's creations. La Namimorine was good, Hotaru would admit that much, but she was loyal to Makoto, _and_ she was a VIP at her place.

Besides, Haru liked Tsuna. What kind of a friend would she be if she tagged along and became the dreaded third wheel?

Now that he was in Namimori and no longer avoiding her, Kawahira decided he needed to give her lessons in illusions.

"Like these?" she asked when he said 'illusions', drawing on her magic to create a simulation of Titan Castle in present time, revolving around Saturn.

"Those are projections, not illusions," Kawahira critiqued, looking over the miniature projection of her castle with a bored eye. "Do you think you can use those in a fight?"

No, she supposed she couldn't.

"What's the difference?" Hotaru questioned as she let the projection dissolve, because it was clear he had in mind different definitions. It was doubtful that he differentiated based on whether they could be used in a fight or not.

"Illusions," Kawahira said, " _actual_ illusions, not tricks or sleights of hands, are a distortion of the senses. Where magic tricks rely on the holes in human perception and assumptions, illusions seize the senses of others, sight, smell, sound, touch, taste, and takes control of them. When one's perception of reality is twisted to your own desires . . ."

He trailed off, but Hotaru could see where he was going with it. When you weren't in control of yourself, how would you be able to discern who was the foe and who was an ally?

What kept you from being turned against your own allies, when you were lost to even yourself?

"It'll probably take an illusionist of significant talent and skill to affect you or the others when you're in your sailor forms," he continued, drumming his fingers together. "Though in civilian form, that's another matter entirely."

Hotaru grimaced. After being insulted – unintentional as it was on her part – by Rei's efforts to protect her from any possession or the likes, Kawahira had theorized that the reason why Hotaru – and the other sailor soldiers – were vulnerable to things like possession when not transformed was due to the discrepancy between their bodies and their souls.

"If you have a soul of a Saturnian, but the body of a Terran," Kawahira had said back then, over his second bowl of ramen. "Then obviously it won't fit as well. It's like trying to shove a grown adult into a four-year old girl's dress."

It didn't help, he had added after both of them made a face at the imagery, that they were growing stronger as sailor soldiers. Not when their bodies were still that of Earth, and they lived on this planet instead of their home planets. For all that they had been born here, they were claiming and prioritizing their birthrights first. Kawahira compared it to citizenships, and services provided by the state. Foreigners paid more or had to go through different channels than natives or people with citizenships. It was an apt metaphor.

"Eventually you'll achieve the same status as the Lunarians, back then," Kawahira had concluded, rubbing his chin with an absent-minded thumb after he ordered the third bowl of ramen. "And your bodies will catch up to your souls and the connection will grow stronger. In the meantime, try to not get possessed."

It fit what he was saying now. As sailor soldiers they were protected by the active powers of their planets. When untransformed, they were far more vulnerable.

"The first thing you should remember about illusions, and illusionists," Kawahira said now. "Reality is subjective. Any illusionist worth their salt has struggled at least once with the concept of reality, toed the insanity of what they dealt with as they tried to define what has no correct answer. What is real? How do you know if it's real?"

He waited, and Hotaru realized it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"I," she paused. What was reality? What she felt? But the senses could be tricked. Illusions, hallucinations and phantom pains were all examples of how the senses felt something that wasn't there.

And how did she know the world? Through her senses. Sometimes through the birthright of Saturn, giving her a bit of precognition and understanding of the path of destiny being carved ahead of the world, but that wasn't the answer Kawahira was looking for.

He had given her the answer from the start. Reality was subjective. There were spectrums of lights not visible to the naked human eye, sounds that couldn't be heard, scents that couldn't be caught. But just because it wasn't 'real' to her didn't mean that it didn't exist.

And yet, when Hotaru thought about her own reality that wasn't something she could take into account, not fully.

"I just know," she concluded. What she knew might not be the whole truth, at least not to others, but from her perspective it was what she knew. What she knew was her reality. The more Hotaru knew, the larger, the more detailed her reality would be. It wasn't that what she didn't know didn't exist, but just that she couldn't factor it into her own interpretation of reality.

Kawahira smirked proudly when she gave her reasoning for her answer.

"Exactly," he said. "The trick the illusionist plays, then, is taking control of that subjective knowledge of reality and exerting control over them. It's a battle of realities."

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. In front of him appeared a bowl of steaming ramen.

"Here's a test," he said. "Is this ramen an illusion, or was it here all along, just hidden behind an illusion?"

Hotaru could smell the broth – miso ramen – and see it in front of her own eyes. Experimentally, she touched the bowl. It was hot.

Then she ran a hand across the steam. Damp heat covered her fingers. Four of her five senses told her that there was, in fact, a bowl of ramen from Kawahira's favorite place sitting on the table before her.

Kawahira offered her a spoon he had pulled out of nowhere. "Want to taste it?"

Hotaru shook her head and focused. After a moment she released her breath. "It's an illusion."

Grinning, Kawahira inclined his head as the bowl – and the spoon – disappeared. Not even the smell was left to permeate the air, when only a moment ago it had been strong enough to make her mouth water.

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" he prodded. He looked like he was genuinely having fun.

"Control over the senses," Hotaru answered, feeling a little spoon-fed. He had given her all she needed to break it. "The moment I told myself it was an illusion it didn't have a hold over me anymore."

"Very good," he praised. "Yes – illusions are in the mind. If you can keep yourself grounded, and your mind under your control, illusions become little more than paltry tricks, and they can't affect you. Though, I doubt just telling yourself it was an illusion was enough to have the confidence to break it entirely like you just did."

He was right. She was completely honest when she said her next words, but Hotaru couldn't help the impish smile spreading across her face. "I knew it had to be an illusion because there was no way you would have let your ramen sit around that long."

Kawahira threw his head back and laughed.

After the lesson was done for the day, before she left, Kawahira had one more thing to say.

"Try to avoid using your powers," he suggested, leaning on the doorframe like standing required too much effort. "Or, at least, exposing people to you know what."

Hotaru blinked. "What?"

He sighed. "The greater being within you."

Sailor Saturn.

"So I shouldn't heal people?" she asked, feeling herself cringe a little. She'd already done that.

Kawahira considered it before shaking his head. "That should be fine, but . . . try to not release your powers in a threatening way."

Hotaru nearly said that she didn't, except she had, once, during Namimori's athletic festival. Oops.

"Some people are sensitive to that kind of power," he explained, and yawned. "Not everyone, but some. Just in case."

She nodded.

* * *

Tsuna didn't know what a mafia boss was supposed to look like. For one, Reborn's goal was to make him the tenth boss of the Vongola Family, and Tsuna couldn't ever imagine himself as _that_.

A suit maybe, black and expensive. A tough, rough face with a scar – or scars – and a constant frown. Guns – or dynamite, like Gokudera.

Dino wasn't quite like the vague image he had always thought. He was young, for one. An adult, but not someone Tsuna would consider as a 'boss', and of a mafia family. Sure, he had tattoos, but he looked young and cool, with his tattoos peeking out from even the thick green coat he was wearing and his golden hair. Like a model or an actor on television, someone that was on magazines girls bought and squealed over. Not a mafia boss.

Tsuna studiously avoided the men in black suits inside and around his house. He was going to pretend they didn't exist. They were just too much of a threat to his sense of sanity and denial.

"Thanks to Reborn I'm now the boss of a family with five thousand members," Dino recalled, mouth curling into a fond quirk but eyes haunted by things that couldn't be unseen.

Okay, so maybe he _was_ a former student of Reborn's, because Tsuna was fairly sure that was the face he made when he thought back about what he'd been through these past months. Still, Tsuna didn't believe Dino when he said that he used to be like Tsuna. For one, there was no way someone had _survived_ the kind of torture that Reborn put him through and actually come back to see Reborn to recount the tale. For another, he didn't look or act like a loser.

Sure, he made a dad joke, and he had a turtle for some reason, but he jumped out of a window on the second floor without a second thought because Lambo's grenades were about to fall on his men. Like he had come out of an action movie, Dino snatched up both grenades with his whip and threw them into the air.

So, yeah. Dino was super cool. A long way off from what Tsuna was.

And, despite his coolness, a mafia boss. Which Tsuna had no intention of being, despite what both Reborn and Dino said.

Dino stayed over for dinner – and the night – and that left Tsuna at a loss of what to even talk about. He wasn't going to be talking to Reborn's other student about mafia stuff, cool or not.

Reborn, because he was Reborn, had other ideas.

"Right now, there's Gokudera and Yamamoto," listed off Reborn when Dino asked about his family. "Also a few candidates: Hibari, Sasagawa Ryohei, and-"

Nope, nope, nope.

"Those are just my friends and seniors!" Tsuna shrieked. He'd never trade them for anything, because having friends were great, but Reborn needed to stop pulling them into mafia business.

They were just normal – well okay, not _completely_ normal, but mostly, sort of, kind of normal people. _Tsuna_ was just a normal guy.

Reborn, over his bowl of rice, gave him a 'we shall see' look that sent chills crawling up his spine in a foreshadowing of doom and pain and much suffering. Again – how had Dino survived this guy?

"Why did you come to a person like me?" Tsuna asked, partly because he wanted to change the subject to less stressful things, but also because he was curious. Why him, despite whoever his great-something-grandfather was? "It sounds like you were doing fine with Dino-san."

Dino shrugged, as if it was obvious. "The Vongola is the center of our allied families," he said matter-of-factly, like every word he said wasn't like one of Gokudera's bombs exploding in his head. "That's why it gets priority above all others in every aspect."

"It's _that_ influential?!" He felt faint.

"That's right," answered Reborn at his side, lifting his rice bowl to his face. And this guy wanted to train (read: torture) him until he could lead a family someone like Dino said was to be prioritized over everything else.

Tsuna wished he hadn't changed the subject because that just added more pressure.

Then, as if sensing his inner panic and wanting to comfort him, Dino revealed why he said he used to be just like Tsuna by demonstrating his conditional klutz. It couldn't even be anything as minor and harmless as just spilling his food when eating. No, Dino's klutziness was far worse – from tripping, to somehow doubling his bad luck, to suddenly losing his proficiency with his whip and attacking everyone else except Enzio, the sponge turtle, _whatever that even was_.

Holding his twice-whipped face – which hurt a lot, and why did he have to know what being whipped in the face was like – Tsuna despaired.

Then, miracle of all miracles, Reborn, instead of shooting him with a Dying Will Bullet as usual, merely threw Leon at his head. The chameleon landed on his face, and Tsuna flinched when Reborn's pet changed shape and settled over his entire head, like a tight-fitting helmet.

"Romario?!" Dino shouted. It was like a switch went off. His movements changed from what could be found as examples under the page for 'clumsiness' in the dictionary to the cool, action-movie like moves from earlier in the day.

The bullwhip tore through the air, and by the time the crack rang out, Enzio had his neck caught by the whip, and elevated by the light fixture. With gravity working against him, and the whip tight around his throat, Enzio's struggles grew weaker and less destructive.

No, Tsuna decided. Dino was still cool.

* * *

AN: a bit of information on illusions. Also, Kawahira's reason for returning to Namimori – because Hotaru released a bit of her power around an Arcobaleno and he realized he needed to tell them to not do that lest the babies go 'JENGA'.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Kawahira: THIS is how you do illusions *finger snaps in a Z like the illusions snob he is*

Also Kawahira: Of all the people in town the reincarnated soldiers protected by planets and the Arcobaleno _would_ run into each other this town I don't even.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Reborn: Come to the mafia side, we let you be cool (sometimes)

Tsuna, Dino: No thank you!

Reborn: I refuse that refusal. *shoots them both*

Sweet Dreams~


	26. Daily Life XI

Ms. Tohoku was a homeroom teacher and a woman of much wisdom. She was a teacher, so the assumption would have been that she was smart enough to teach her subjects, but more than that, she was clever in the ways of the world. Like the time before the athletic festival, when she told the class that boys tended to be rowdier than girls.

That story came to mind now, months after the event because Tsuna was in the hospital again for a broken leg. It hadn't been all that long since his birthday, when he landed in the hospital for the rather explosive way Reborn's birthday party had ended the day before, but he was back again.

It was going to heal without any issues, he reassured her when she asked, but he looked rather pale and worn out, as if he'd been harassed before she and Haru arrived at his hospital room.

Hotaru glanced around. Tsuna was in a private room, which was unusual for someone who had a relatively minor injury like a broken leg. Maybe there had been a rude patient in his previous room, and the hospital moved him to a better one to make up for it.

Reborn ushered them out to let him rest, and they did so without protest.

"I hope he gets better soon," Hotaru said, as she left the hospital with Haru and her new friend. Hotaru had brought him a basket of snacks, and, because of what Haru had planned to raise Tsuna's spirits, a charm from Rei. She left both at his bedside table.

Why he looked at her like he was Caesar being stabbed by Brutus, Hotaru didn't really understand, but she figured it was because of all the stress he was going through.

"Mm-hm," agreed Haru's friend, who had dressed up as an exorcist with her. Hotaru didn't recognize her, so it was doubtful that she was from Midori. Maybe a friend of Tsuna's who met Haru before. "Tsuna-kun's always so energetic and interesting to watch. It doesn't feel right for him to be stuck in the hospital."

Hotaru nodded as Haru clapped her hands.

"Hahi! I forgot to introduce you two! Hotaru-chan, this is Kyoko-chan! I met her on Haru Appreciation Day! She loves La Namimorine too! And Kyoko-chan, this is Hotaru-chan. She's been friends with me for a long time, and we go to Midori together."

Haru did mention she met someone the other day, on her shopping date with Tsuna. It had gotten a little overshadowed because of Kawahira's illusion lesson, but Hotaru remembered now. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here!" Kyoko beamed at her. Hotaru didn't know her, but she was willing to bet that Haru had collected yet another good person. There was a brightness about her, and not just because of her light-colored hair, cut short to frame her face, but in the way she smiled sweetly and how her eyes were guileless and kind.

It turned out that Kyoko also went to Namimori Middle.

"I can't believe we missed out on meeting you during the sports festival," Haru said, when they realized that Kyoko's brother had been on Team A and worked closely with Tsuna and the others. "We could have been friends so much sooner!"

Hotaru recounted her memory of the event, and recalled Gokudera punching and being punched by another boy with white hair cropped close to his head – the boy they had identified as Sasagawa Kyoko's brother.

Maybe that was for the best, back then. She kept that quiet.

Haru was set on making up for missed time, and when the boys went on a camping trip into the mountains with a friend from Italy after Tsuna's leg healed, she took the initiative to organize a girls' day.

"If the boys can have a boys' day," she said with fierce competition burning in her eyes. "Then we can have a girls' day!"

It wasn't exactly something that warranted a competition, but Hotaru went along with it. The boys could have fun climbing a mountain in this cold and sleeping outside, in a tent. They'd just spend their day having fun in a safer, less strenuous way.

Kyoko was invited because the whole point was to make up for the time they missed out on being friends, and after asking them in advance she brought her friend as well, raising their numbers to an even four.

Kurokawa Hana was a girl their age with eyes so sharp, she could have come across as cold and unfriendly at first impression, but with a few words exchanged after being introduced it was clear that she was simply a blunt and honest person.

That was evident in how she looked a little taken aback at how instantaneously Haru warmed up to her, but didn't protest or react harshly. A fair response Hotaru couldn't fault her for.

"We can go shopping first," Haru chatted, eyes sparkling. "And then go for karaoke, and then go get some cake!"

It was a plan that they all agreed with.

Girls' day _was_ fun, and something she hadn't had for a while, at least not with people her age. Most of their shopping was window shopping. For Hotaru, most of the clothes in the shops didn't really meet the high standards set by Setsuna, but it was the experience looking through the sales and trying on the items that nearly made the cut that was worth it. Haru was always expressive in her reactions, and Hotaru could pick up fashion trends from her peers. Setsuna may have had an unparalleled eye for clothes, but she wanted to learn to pick her own clothes instead of relying on her mother all the time.

"What about this cardigan, Hana-chan?" Kyoko called from the shelves, where neatly-folded autumn clothes were arranged according to color. She raised a light pink cardigan for her friend's approval but was turned down with a shake of the head.

"Spring clothes are on sale now," said Hana, idly flipping a few dresses on the rack. She had the concentrated look of someone balancing two desires – in this case, the desire to find something for a good price, while also considering the likelihood of wearing the sundresses she was looking through.

Hotaru peered at the dresses. The shape was nice, but the pattern, pastel colors with tiny flower printing, could end up burying the shape and make the end results look like she was wearing a shapeless mass of tiny flower print if worn wrong.

Hana seemed to reach the same conclusion, because she pushed herself away from the dresses like they gave her a headache. Not having much else to do, Hotaru shrugged and followed suit.

The other girl decided to speak to fill the silence. "How did you get to even know Kyoko?"

"Haru and I are friends with Takeshi," she answered automatically. She decided to keep the explanation simple because she didn't want to talk about near-death experiences. "Haru met Kyoko-chan when she went shopping with Tsuna-san."

"'Tsuna?'" Hana raised an eyebrow. "Like, Sawada?"

Hotaru nodded. The critical light in her sharp gaze deepened before Hana shrugged.

"Didn't expect him to be a lady killer," was all she said, but there was an implication there.

"Is he popular with girls?" Hotaru asked, surprised. Not that Tsuna didn't seem the type, because he was a sweet person with a good heart, but other than Haru Hotaru had never seen him with another girl, and Haru never mentioned any girl who showed interest towards Tsuna that way.

He also didn't seem to be the 'lady killer' type. Hotaru would know, she lived with one.

But maybe Hana would know better. She did go to the same school, after all, and unlike Takeshi could see things from a girl's point of view.

Why Hana looked at her with a flat look, Hotaru didn't understand.

"Never mind," the other girl mumbled, shaking her head.

They left the shopping district soon after, for karaoke.

There was a moment of excitement that almost possessed Hotaru like a demon when she saw a song by Minako from one of her movies and she made Haru sing it with her, but even after that they had a lot of fun with karaoke. They started by picking the popular pop songs, and then started picking older songs, and then Haru just threw what little reservations she had out the window and picked her favorite enka songs and from then on they turned silly, wailing along to old songs with their soda raised in the air like it was alcohol.

Then Haru paused on a page in the book of songs and pointed out an entry to Hotaru. "Doesn't Haruka-san like this band?"

"She loves them," Hotaru replied after peering at the song Haru pointed out. "Haruka-papa told me that when the lead singer died, she knew she was never going to love another band like she loved Queen."

That was all Haru needed to push in the code for Bohemian Rhapsody, but when it came up on the queue, they ran into an unexpected problem.

"Why are the lyrics in English?!" Haru wailed. Midori taught second languages, one of which happened to be English, sure, but she wasn't on the level of a native speaker. To pay her back for singing 'C'est la vie' along with her, Hotaru picked up the mike with the determination of a soldier about to make a last stand.

"Hum along," she instructed. Then, because the first verse had flown by while Haru panicked, started on the next. The lyrics that she started singing were a little morbid, but Hotaru rolled with it. " _Mama, just killed a man_."

The problem with Bohemian Rhapsody wasn't that it was in English. No, the foreign language part wasn't a problem. Sailor soldiers were kind of omni-lingual for the sake of convenient communication. Besides, Haruka played Queen enough at home, she knew one of their most famous songs by heart now.

No, the biggest issue was that Bohemian Rhapsody was a song sung by a man with a famously impressive vocal range and lung capacity that required a lot to be sung properly. And Hotaru had a naturally quiet voice, and she preferred to speak softly, not belt out lyrics to a song Haruka insisted was the greatest rock song in human history.

It was also nearly six minutes long, which was _long_.

In short, it was a huge strain on her throat because despite all that, despite everything working against her, Hotaru, in a moment of sheer bullheaded refusal to do anything less, still gave it everything she had, squeezing out every bit of her breath from her lungs like she would die if she didn't. It felt like she was going to die as she did so, but she did it anyways.

After the last line – hoarsely whispered in deep relief that she was finally done– Hotaru put the mike down on the provided table and ungracefully collapsed into the seat like a puppet whose strings had been cut. After a second she put a fist up in the air because it _was_ a rock song and deserved a proper finale.

"Whoo!" Haru cheered, clapping. Kyoko, who was holding a tambourine, clapped along, and even Hana looked impressed.

"Next time," Hotaru croaked, reaching out for a drink to soothe her poor vocal cords. "We should do 'We Will Rock You' instead."

It was a much shorter song, for one, with simpler lyrics that didn't require her to do the vocal equivalent of acrobatics.

"Which one is that?" Hana asked.

Because her throat hurt too much to say anything, Hotaru stomped her feet twice and then clapped. It was more than enough to make Hana understand.

Haru took that as a request and immediately punched it in.

"I'm _not_ singing this one," warned Hotaru in advance. "I'm just going to clap and stomp."

"That's okay," Haru reassured her.

Hotaru ended up singing again because she got swept up in the atmosphere. Her throat hated her, but Hotaru still had a lot of fun.

* * *

The water that burst out from the ground fell all around them in a parody of rain, and with it died the out-of-control fire.

The Dying Will Flame flickered out from his head after the last of the fire was extinguished, and Tsuna sighed. He was wet from the groundwater, dirty because of the mud and cold because he was in his underwear, but the fire was out.

Shivering in cold and relief, Tsuna rubbed his arms to create some friction and warm himself.

Yamamoto and Gokudera handed him some spare clothes and he pulled them on, nearly sighing at how they seemed to warm him up in an instant. Like a hug from his mom, telling him it would be okay now.

He really should have known better than to relax just yet.

As if his thoughts had just jinxed him, Dino yelled a warning. "Watch out!"

The end of his cry was buried with a furious roar. Horrified, they all turned to see Enzio, giant and towering over them all.

Because of the water Tsuna had pulled up to stop the fire. Out of the fire, into the sponge turtle's snapping jaw.

"Run!" shouted Dino, and he didn't need to say it again.

* * *

AN: Early update because of the news that the Sailor Moon Eternal movie(s) is set to be released in 2020, which, finally!

Haru is unintentionally and unknowingly the luckiest of everyone here, because she went for girls' day instead of with the kids to the cake shop in the mountain. She knows her best friend, she knows Hotaru isn't going to be hiking for cake.

Lambo and I-Pin went with the boys, because someone needs to watch over them and their usual go-to went for girls' day. When they started trying to make a fire Lambo decided he wanted to do it, but Gokudera pushed him, and in retaliation started throwing grenades. Poor I-Pin.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

The girls: *stomp stomp clap* Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise, Playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday~ You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, Kicking your can all over the place, singin' ~ We will, we will rock you

Tsuna: AHHHHHHH

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	27. Daily Life XII

Most people wanted auspicious signs in the new year. Something that served as an omen, to say, no matter what happened last year, this year would be different. A fresh new start for a better year.

An auspicious start of a new year was not having a random kid, dressed like a cow, obnoxiously shouting for money.

Tsuna snatched Lambo off the gate where he was sitting and demanding money from complete strangers for the good of literally everyone and was about to seal himself into the house for forever – or until there was something to do, whichever came first – when a familiar voice called.

"Tsuna-kun, Lambo-kun!"

He nearly broke his neck with how fast he turned around.

There, right outside his gate, like she had just walked out of his dreams, was Kyoko, dressed up for festivities.

"Happy new year!" she said brightly, and no, it wasn't a dream but wow. That was almost a lethal amount of adorableness.

This being reality, though, meant that it was loud and chaotic and filled with people, just like how it had been since Reborn entered his life.

"Sawada!" roared another familiar voice, and yup, there was Ryohei. "Best regards for this year, too!"

"Happy new year," Tsuna said, the phrase automatic on his tongue now.

"Thanks for the new year's invitation," said Ryohei, as Kyoko crouched to meet Lambo near his height.

"Invitation?"

His question was answered by others.

"Happy new year, Tenth!"

"Happy new year, Tsuna-san!"

Tsuna turned his head and sure enough, Gokudera, Haru and Yamamoto were there. Gokudera got into an argument with Ryohei immediately and Haru went to greet Kyoko.

"Yo, Tsuna," said Yamamoto.

"Hey." On one hand, it was nice that everyone was here, but that word Ryohei said worried him. 'Invitation'.

There was only one person in his house that would call everyone over first thing in the year, and there was only one direction everything would go towards.

"Today," said Reborn, also dressed up for the new year, "we're going to have a Vongolian style New Year's Ceremony."

Tsuna turned to Yamamoto and grabbed his arm, desperate. "Is Hotaru-san coming?"

If Haru and Yamamoto were both here, then it only made sense that she would come, too, and Tsuna _needed_ her here. He needed her guardian angel aura to ward off Reborn's shenanigans first thing in the year.

"She went to Tokyo with her parents to meet up with family," Yamamoto answered, unintentionally destroying his hopes and damning Tsuna to a day of suffering. "She told us to send her New Year's wishes to everyone, though."

* * *

While the rest of Tokyo was in the last day of the New Year celebrations, the sailor soldiers of the solar system gathered to meet guests from very far away.

Guests that they hadn't had the chance to meet before, due to circumstances.

"Thank you for welcoming us so graciously," spoke Sailor Mermaid, as the representative speaker of the four visiting sailor soldiers from the Fauna Star System.

On dry land she had two legs rather than the tail mermaids were known for, but there was an air about her, similar to that of the metallic shimmer of a scale or the subtle beauty of mother-of-pearl that caught the eye and made it difficult to look away. Her voice, alluring even when she was merely speaking, added to the hypnotic air she exuded.

"And again," she said, tucking one lock of wavy silver-gold hair behind her ear, "we apologize for the actions of the Sailor Animamates."

Behind her stood three more women, sailor soldiers from the planets Mau, Cocoon and Coronis.

Hotaru thought it made great sense the sailor soldiers of Fauna had chosen Sailor Mermaid to be their speaker. Sailor Moon wasn't interested in drawing blood or vengeance, and certainly not from the sailor soldiers before them, but if she ever had even so much as desired such a thing, Sailor Mermaid might have been able to soothe her with her voice alone.

Of course, that was unnecessary given the nature of their princess.

"No need to apologize," said Usagi warmly. "It wasn't your faults."

There could be no faking that level of genuine kindness and sincerity, and the visiting sailor soldiers relaxed. Sailor Mermaid's eyes curled into a relieved smile that was just as alluring as her voice.

With introductions and apologies out of the way, they could move onto the business of reunions.

"Sailor Mau!"

"Artemis! Luna!" exclaimed Sailor Mau, opening her arms as two blurs shot forwards her like furred bullets. At first appearance she had looked like a cool and handsome but also a no-nonsense type of woman, but the sheer joy that radiated with her smile upon seeing them changed her impression entirely.

They came to a skidding stop and took on their human shapes, Artemis a tall man with straight white hair and Luna a beautiful woman with midnight-black hair that fell down her back in a mass of curls like a waterfall.

Sailor Mau embraced them both, as the two Mauians of the solar system burst into tears. Black, white and dark blue hairs all but merged together.

"Phobos and Deimos," sighed Sailor Coronis, extending her hands so the two black birds that followed Rei faithfully could perch on her. Once they did, they changed into a humanoid shape.

"Sailor Coronis," murmured Phobos, in awe of the sailor soldier of her home planet.

"We were so worried," said Deimos, eyes wandering over the woman's face like she was drinking in the very sight of her teary eyes and dimpled cheeks.

"I missed you two," whispered Sailor Coronis, leaning forwards to let her forehead touch with theirs. Her caramel colored hair fell from her shoulders and made a curtain around Phobos and Deimos. "So, _so_ much. I'm so glad you're alive and well now."

Their planets, with the return of the sailor crystals, were recovering, and one day would no longer be the planets of death Shadow Galactica had reduced them to during the war. But in the meantime, old alliances needed to be renewed, and those like Luna and Artemis, or Phobos and Deimos, who had immigrated to the Moon Kingdom from those planets as part of those alliances, deserved to meet their original sailor soldiers.

And vice versa. Sailor Mau and Sailor Coronis were clearly overjoyed.

Neither Luna and Artemis, or Phobos and Deimos, would leave to return to their home planets. They were now a part of the solar system. But that didn't – shouldn't – severe the bonds that existed before, and the sailors wanted to meet their old friends.

That left Sailor Mermaid and Sailor Cocoon.

The representative from Mermaid had been with Neptune, during the Silver Millennium, and so Sailor Neptune agreed to guide Sailor Mermaid.

Sailor Cocoon's case, on the other hand, was slightly different.

"While it's true that Tanaecia stayed at Pluto," said Setsuna. "I think it might be for the best that Hotaru be your guide."

Not all of the immigrants to the Silver Millennium had been as close to the sailor soldiers as Luna and Artemis, or Phobos and Deimos. The Mauians had been advisors and confidants, while Phobos and Deimos had fought as fellow warriors on Mars. They had been close to the inner sailor soldiers – and in Luna's case, the queen – and that was why they were reborn in the bodies they had in their previous lives. It was less a rebirth, and more a revival for them.

The positions given to Sailors Pluto and Neptune meant that both immigrants from Mermaid and Cocoon were not close to the sailor soldiers of the planets they went to, and therefore had not been reborn as they had been in their first lives. Their souls had been reborn into human bodies.

Sailor Cocoon did not seem bothered by this.

"The powers of Cocoon are about transformation and rebirth," Sailor Cocoon said. She was a woman with eye-catching beauty, in a Marilyn Monroe type of way. She even had a beauty mark on her left cheek, though her hair was black.

Even without the butterfly wings of her sailor form, she was voluptuous, and already many couldn't keep their gaze from being drawn to her.

Their gazes, however, failed to draw any attention from Sailor Cocoon, who ignored them easily. "Being unchanging is a quality that belongs only to death, after all – change is a prerogative of the living."

In that sense, Hotaru supposed their powers were similar.

That was not the reason why she was taking Sailor Cocoon to their destination now, though. Kawahira had left papers in her mailbox shortly before she and her parents left for Tokyo, not giving the information to her in person, and the revelation made her chest tighten with freshly awakened grief.

"I don't think she ever knew," Hotaru mumbled. But then again, she had only known her mother for eight years. All Hotaru really knew about Tomoe Keiko had been that she looked like her, that she had once been a nurse, before she married Tomoe Souichi and became a housewife, and that she died in a fire trying to reach Hotaru and get her to safety.

She remembered smiles, kisses, hugs, stories read to her at night, but after the accident those had been too painful to dwell on.

She remembered her mother's last words, screaming her name, but more than that had been the pain of the fire burning her and the fear and the knowledge, even back then, that she was going to _die_ –

Hotaru hadn't died then. Just woken up to a life of pain and cold limbs and loneliness that wouldn't stop for four more years.

There had been nothing to suggest that Hotaru's mother in this life had memories of her former life as someone from the planet Cocoon, who came to live in the Silver Millennium and died with its end. Either Tomoe Keiko had not, or Hotaru didn't remember enough to know. It _had_ been over a decade, after all.

Sailor Cocoon sighed. "Then all I can hope for is that my sister was happy, during her second life."

Hotaru started and Sailor Cocoon smiled, but there was a sad edge to the quirk of her full red lips. "Tanaecia and Sailor Heavy Metal Papillon, as she called herself, were both my sisters."

She didn't speak further, but Hotaru's mind was already fully occupied with the new revelation. Did that make Sailor Cocoon her aunt, indirectly? Reincarnation made family relations slightly odd. Hotaru held her tongue, because if Sailor Heavy Metal Papillon was also her sister, then she didn't want to unintentionally step on sore subjects.

They stepped off the bus, and Hotaru looked at the delta where the Mugen Academy had once stood.

"I didn't attend my mother's funeral," Hotaru admitted as she tried to keep her cheeks from heating. "I was . . . injured in the same accident, and by the time I had regained mobility it was already over."

And instead of putting her ashes in a graveyard, Tomoe Souichi had done something with them. Hotaru still didn't know what, only that he had taken them. She hoped he had scattered it to the winds, because at least that way her mother would have been free.

As if she had read her mind, Cocoon put a reassuring hand on Hotaru's shoulder. Hotaru glanced at her face, as vivaciously beautiful and yet, strangely but fittingly, also vulnerable like a butterfly's wings.

There was no trace of Mugen Academy left in the delta, having been cleared away years ago after the incident. It was now a bustling area of business and people, none of whom knew just _what_ had happened on that land years past. In a way it was a grave, not only to her mother, but also to her father and the Death Busters.

It was also a grave to her old self, before she had reawakened as Sailor Saturn. Tomoe Hotaru had died here, after suffering for years, and was given a chance at rebirth.

A secret grave that no one knew of, save a precious select few.

"I can't forgive Deidamia," Sailor Cocoon said suddenly. The name was unfamiliar to Hotaru, but she could connect the dots and deduce that it was the name of Sailor Heavy Metal Papillon. "Or Galaxia, but I can't forgive my sister, either."

Hotaru kept her silence. She was good at that.

"She had -" Cocoon paused, and her next words were carefully steady, but Hotaru knew what unshed tears looked like. " _Has_ a daughter. That's why she turned to Galaxia and betrayed me."

The delta, in the middle of a bustling city crowded with people, was hardly a place for a butterfly. Sailor Cocoon had tears running down her cheek, and she didn't seem to be aware of it as she stared at the distance, as if waiting for an answer, a revelation.

Then she laughed, the sound wet. She wasn't really laughing, she was crying. But a butterfly's wings were camouflage, and her laughter was like a refusal to express her true emotions the normal way.

"I can't believe I'm glad." The whispered words were hoarse. "I'm _glad_ that I don't have to worry about Tanaecia stabbing me in the back, too. I'm sad, because she left and died and, that was a betrayal even if she didn't mean it, but – I'm glad that I don't have to have a part of me always be paranoid and wonder if she'd turn on me, too, like I have to do with my niece."

The opposite of love, Hotaru had once read, wasn't hatred, but indifference. Even as she cried, making quiet pained sounds she tried to muffle behind a hand clasped tightly to her face, even as it was clear that her heart had been ripped ragged by betrayal, it was love. Soured and defiled, painful to even bear, perhaps never to return to what it once was due to the wounds, but it was love that made Sailor Cocoon shed tears.

She wasn't happy that Hotaru's mother was dead. She was grieving and confused and sad, and most importantly trying to recover from a traumatic experience.

Hotaru thought about what Usagi, what Haru might do in this situation. Both of them had a way of just knowing, intuitively, what words to say, and a courage that allowed them to take the step needed.

From them she drew her own courage and took her own step.

"Technically," she murmured, just loud enough to reach Cocoon's ears. "I'm your niece."

Sailor Cocoon stilled, but Hotaru continued to speak. She didn't know what expression was on Cocoon's face at that moment, and she didn't turn to see.

"I'm already a sailor soldier," she said. "Protected by the planet of ruin, the soldier of silence, Sailor Saturn."

 _I have no need to betray_ _you_ , was the unsaid promise.

Hotaru would never know if Tomoe Keiko ever remembered anything of her previous life as Tanaecia from the planet Cocoon. It was possible she never did remember before dying.

She also couldn't offer Cocoon much. She couldn't be a close family, couldn't be a replacement for her sister or a saviour.

But she could extend a hand, so that Sailor Cocoon could breathe instead of drowning. Offer a small reminder that she wasn't alone. The bonds between Cocoon and the other soldiers she had come with seemed strong, but one more as a reminder, that not all her family, no matter how loose the definition and reliant on technicalities, had betrayed her.

Until she could stop hurting.

* * *

Hotaru didn't say anything else, but Sailor Cocoon pulled herself together, no sign of the vulnerability that had been exposed earlier on.

At the end of the day, they were soldiers, born to protect the planet of their birth and to fight in the never-ending war of Chaos and Cosmos. They ran into grief and sorrow, but they overcame pain.

"Can I ask what happened?" Cocoon asked, after wiping away her tears.

Hotaru gave her a brief explanation. An accident that killed Tomoe Keiko and left her burnt and severely injured. Tomoe Souichi's surgery on her. The formation of the Death Busters, and the vesselization she had gone through. Pharaoh 90 and –

"Pharaoh 90?" Until the mention of him, Sailor Cocoon had been listening quietly. She hadn't looked happy at any of Hotaru's recounting, but she had kept silent. Now, between her brows there was a crease of worry. "From the Tau Star System?"

"He's gone now," Hotaru reassured her. She had made sure of that herself.

But the frown deepened. "Pharaoh 90 might be gone, but the Tau Star System has been active for a while now."

"What?" But the Tau Star System was a dead world, a graveyard of gravity by the words of the monster that reduced it to such. Years ago, she had jumped into that portal with Pharaoh 90, fully intent on dying and taking him down with her.

Hotaru _had_ died back then, was reborn by only a miracle, but she had died only after ensuring Pharaoh 90 was dead and gone, just like his homeland, just like her father.

Unease clear on her face, Cocoon spoke. "What do you know about the Tau Star System?"

"It's dead." That was why the Death Busters had come to Earth. "They had a Tairon Crystal, but they needed more energy, so they came here to create a second homeland."

The sensation of her body having someone other than her in it. Pain seizing her like never before, and being reduced to a prisoner in her own skin as a monster wore her face. Struggling to keep Chibi-Usa's soul, and the souls of the inner sailor scouts safe from the darkness even while she was reduced to near-nothing.

Fleeing her own body, because it was a fight she would eventually lose.

Her hands curled into tight fists. The Death Busters were gone now.

 _Weren't they?_

"The latter part, I didn't know," muttered Sailor Cocoon, frowning distastefully. "But it fits them, the slimy bastards."

"Did they invade another planet before they came to Earth?" Not that she disagreed with disliking the Death Busters, but the disgust on Sailor Cocoon's was the kind one reserved for criminals on the scale of mass murderers.

"Only their own," Sailor Cocoon said grimly. "Though that was more than enough. Those wretched creatures are vile because they cannibalized their own sailor soldiers for power."

Nothing she could have imagined would have prepared her for that statement, and it took a second for her to realize what the words Sailor Cocoon said meant.

Once they sank in, Hotaru felt nausea stir in her stomach.

"This was some time after the Silver Millennium collapsed," Sailor Cocoon recollected. "The Tau Star System had a star, and five planets. Five sailor soldiers, and a princess. They weren't allied with us in the way we were with the Silver Millennium, but we did hear of and from them, until all news from that area just stopped."

Pharaoh 90 had not been a sailor soldier or a princess. He was also a monster that had planned to turn Earth into a second Tau Star System, a vessel of his.

Never had Hotaru, or any of the others, wondered where the sailor soldier or soldiers from that star system was.

Had they been subjected to the same kind of suffering as her, only without the second chance she was given? Were they digested by Pharaoh 90 and Mistress 9 and the rest of their kind?

Sailor Cocoon continued. "The sailors near them investigated at the sudden silence and found that the sailor soldiers and princess had been devoured, their star seeds stolen and distorted to create an alternate means of energy for the monsters that killed them."

The Taioron Crystal. That was why Mistres 9 and Pharaoh 90 both claimed Usagi and Chibi-Usa's Silver Crystal was similar. A wave of disgust swelled up within Hotaru. She quashed it down, reminding herself that she had ended Pharaoh 90 with her own hands, but the distaste still remained strong and bitter in her mouth.

That had been exactly what Pharaoh 90 and Mistress 9 had tried to do – the latter using her own body, ripping out Chibi-Usa's soul and Silver Crystal. What they nearly succeeded in doing.

"Ninkilim – sorry, Sailor Chu – hypothesized that when we were all brought to life, so too were the monsters there."

Because the monsters there were born from the shadows of the star, and were still a part of the world.

Even if Saturn had destroyed them at the cost of her own life.

Had that been for nothing? Hotaru didn't regret what she had now – she was always grateful for the family she received after rebirth, she loved her friends, she liked her life in Namimori – but at the time, jumping into the other dimension with the full intent to drag Pharaoh 90 into the world of silence and void, considering even her own life as a price she could pay.

It was a time and experience that made up who she was now, and it couldn't be changed, but still. All that she had done, and to hear her old hated enemy might have been revived by the very same second chance she received was upsetting, to say the least.

"Couldn't it be the sailor soldiers, brought back to life?" Hotaru suggested, putting aside her dislike. If all the stolen sailor crystals were restored, there was no reason to think it was the Death Busters that were brought back in whatever shape and form in the Tau Star System.

Cocoon shot it down. "Sailor Chu thinks it's unlikely, and to be honest so do I. The star's still dead, covered in darkness, and when we sent a message there was just dead silence like usual. If the sailor crystals were restored, then it should be different."

She faltered when she caught the look on Hotaru's face. "But," she added. "We can keep an eye out. Sailor Coronis has some foresight, and Sailor Chu's the best data analyst ever."

Hotaru nodded because it wasn't like she could just fly off towards the Tau Star System and start attacking.

Sailor Cocoon changed the subject, and Hotaru appreciated it. "I am sorry you didn't get a chance to meet Sailor Chu. She stayed behind because someone needed to stay in Fauna to keep guard."

That made sense. It wouldn't do to keep their planets unprotected, especially when they had almost no one on the planets other than the sailor soldiers themselves. "Did she volunteer?"

"No." Cocoon shook her head. "She just drew the short straw. We did stop her from using her ranking abilities, though, so she was mad enough to spit fire."

Suddenly Hotaru felt a little bad for Sailor Chu, despite never having met the woman. "Isn't that a little unfair?"

Sailor Cocoon gave her a flat look. "Actually, it was very fair. Chu was a planet of data analysts who were obsessed about ranking everything. And I mean _everything_. If she used her ranking it would have been cheating."

Hotaru took her word for it. Maybe it was a good thing that she didn't come to Earth, because Kawahira hadn't mentioned anything in his papers about the reincarnation from her planet. Either he didn't know, or the former Chu humanoid wasn't yet reborn.

It would have been terrible to come all this way only to be met with no answers.

* * *

AN: The 'original' Sailor Animamates aren't OCs, in that they were mentioned in-manga and do exist. Technically. They're like Yamamoto Ameyuri – there's very little information about them so I made up most of them, as well as the identities of the 'immigrants' other than those from Mau and Coronis (Luna and Artemis; Phobos and Deimos). 'Fauna' is just the name I made up for the star system they're from. If there are planets named Mau and Mermaid and Kinmoku I can make stuff up.

Likewise, the backstory of the Death Busters is made up. Since they're from a star system it would only make sense if Tau had its own sailor soldiers, yet all we got was that it's a dead world, probably thanks to Pharaoh 90. I added a bit of flesh to that.

This chapter might have been a little boring but it was absolutely necessary for future chapters so bear with me.

Cocoon's reincarnated immigrant is revealed this chapter to be Hotaru's mother, Tomoe Keiko. Which leaves only Chu and Mermaid, and both will be KHR characters. Any guesses?

The original Sailor Animamates/Fauna Sailors, minus Sailor Chu, have their appearances based off Mamamoo because I'm terrible at imagining new characters and I'm also a fan. One day I'll make a profile for them.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	28. Daily Life XIII

It wasn't always the case, but for the most part Hotaru's family had domains of the house they liked to decorate. Hotaru liked collecting lamps, and so the lights in the house were usually picked by her. Setsuna had a hand in the makeup of all their wardrobes someway, somehow, and most of the cups and bowls for tea were from her. Haruka had the least influence, so to say, in that she chose all the equipment related to sports and exercise, and any tools necessary. The cars they had, though, were all given her approval first and foremost.

It was Michiru that had the most influence. Her taste made up the furniture, the dinnerware, the cutlery, and the rest of the interior decorating.

This meant that when Hotaru came home to find a giant mirror in their parlor, the first natural thought that came to mind was, 'Oh, Michiru-mama redecorated'.

"Oh," said Hotaru out loud, looking at the mirror leaning on the wall. "Michiru-mama redecorated."

The mirror was tall enough to be full body length for even Haruka, and wide enough for Hotaru to still see herself entirely even if she was to extend one of her arms to the side. Encased in an ornate silver frame, it looked heavy.

It was unexpected, to be honest, because a mirror this big seemed excessive. And out of place, in the parlor.

"Actually," said Setsuna, coming from the kitchen. In her hand was the large mug she had when she was tired and needed tea for caffeine, not for flavor. The bags under her eyes certainly made it clear she needed it. "That one's me."

"Are you redecorating your studio?" Setsuna's room doubled as her office, but for her sewing and designs she had a separate room. It was a medium sized room, but the last time Hotaru was in there she hadn't seen a place for a mirror this large.

Setsuna smiled and walked over to stand by Hotaru's side.

"Look at the frame," she suggested, so Hotaru did, and was surprised by what she found. The ornate silver frames that she had just briefly looked over, upon closer inspection, proved to hold magic.

She looked closer, actually putting in an effort to make it out. Permission. Location. Time and space, connecting two places distant from each other directly. Door. A pathway. "Transportation?"

In the mirror, Setsuna's reflection nodded in response.

"I ran into a few spells that I put together during my research," she explained. "Since Mamoru will be away for extended periods of time while working for Doctors Beyond Borders, I thought he and Usagi might appreciate more subtle methods of travel."

Because they could only teleport while transformed, and their costumes, while not indecent, were also kind of flamboyant. Especially Tuxedo Mask and Sailor Moon's.

"And while I was at it, I made a few more," Setsuna said. "For the others, and for us. Just to save time."

Hotaru could see the wisdom in that. It did take a bit of time to go to their castles. And given what Kawahira had told her, she was a bit hesitant to transform unless necessary. Having a portal, of sorts, was a good solution. "How does it work?"

Setsuna put her mug down on the coffee table and placed a hand on the frame.

"Charon Castle," she said, and the mirror's surface rippled like a pond. Where once there had been a reflective sheet of glass, there was now a doorway to a familiar hallway of obsidian lit by enchanted torches.

"For the sake of security," Setsuna said, withdrawing her hand and waving it to cancel the spell and return it to a normal mirror. "You need to set the spell at the location you want the first time before the mirror can transport you there. It serves as giving the mirror the keys to the location, in a way."

Hotaru could see the wisdom behind that. Their castles weren't easily invaded, but it wasn't impossible, as Sailor Galaxia had proven. No need to keep the castle constantly open and vulnerable for convenience's sake.

Setsuna taught her how to cast the spell that would connect Titan Castle to the mirror. She kept it in mind, so that the next time she went to Saturn for patrols she could use it.

A sudden thought came to mind.

"Usagi-san, I can understand, but how is Mamoru-san going to be carrying around a mirror of this size?"

From what she understood about Doctors Beyond Borders, they didn't exactly live a high end, luxury life in mansions where mirrors of this size were common.

Setsuna smiled, but this time it was more than a little sheepish. "This was the prototype. I made the one for him similar to Neptune's, so it uses a travel mirror."

Hotaru looked again at the almost obnoxiously large mirror in their house. ". . . Does Michiru-mama know about this?"

"She knows there's a mirror."

Hotaru didn't miss how Setsuna averted meeting her eyes.

* * *

"It looks like it might rain today," Haru said as she looked outside the classroom window with a crease between her brows.

Hotaru agreed with her, not just because the sky was grey with not a single bit of blue or the sun in sight, but also because Haruka had confirmed there would be rain today.

As soon as school ended, Haru left, claiming she had to take the laundry in at Tsuna's house.

Hotaru had to stay behind to clean up, and after she was done, she shrugged and packed her things before heading over to Tsuna's house.

On her way, she ran into Takeshi and Gokudera. It was weird seeing them together without Tsuna, but it made sense if they were heading to Tsuna's house together.

"What's the hurry?" she asked Takeshi, because Gokudera's face was flushed in excitement. He only got like that around Tsuna, and this was more eagerness than his usual self.

"There was a kid at school today," Takeshi said, and made a gesture to give Hotaru the approximate height. Either he was a young child who shouldn't be in middle school, or a person of short stature. "Following Tsuna everywhere, and Gokudera says that he's known for being always right."

Gokudera's excitement was replaced with annoyance as he looked back at Takeshi. "It's _ranking_ , baseball brain. He's the ranking prince."

Ranking? Ranking prince?

Hotaru looked at Takeshi, wondering if there was something she was missing, but he just shrugged.

"It sounded interesting," he ended with, and that was valid too.

Now with curiosity adding to the short list of reasons she had to go to Tsuna's home, Hotaru joined them. The house soon came into view, and Nana let them in with a smile.

"They're upstairs with Futa," she said. That was an unfamiliar name, but it didn't stop either of the boys she was with.

"Thank you!" shouted Gokudera, and hurried up the stairs. Takeshi and Hotaru followed at a slower pace while he rushed up and hastily opened the door. "Tenth!"

"G-Gokudera-kun?" Tsuna came into their view when Gokudera moved from the doorway. "Yamamoto-kun? Hotaru-san!"

Hotaru waved – or, at least, raised her hand with the intention to wave, were it not for the sight she caught.

Tsuna's room was a regular room, mostly, except there were a few people and objects floating.

She looked at Tsuna, and he was thankfully wearing clothes. Then she turned her eyes and sure enough, there were still floating people and objects. She waved at Bianchi and Lambo and I-Pin, though the younger ones were a little busy having fun in zero-gravity to give her any attention.

"What!?" Gokudera shouted, drawing Hotaru's attention.

The new face in the room was a young boy, maybe eight or nine years old, with hair the soft brown color of a latte. He had round brown eyes, and they were dreamily gazing at something more than just what was in the room, something _beyond_.

Hotaru felt the hair on the back of her spine rise in response. It was faint and subtle and by no means threatening, but also undeniably _there_ – the trace of magic not of Earth's, or this solar system's.

The source of this faint but foreign magic, round cheeks still retaining baby fat, didn't seem at all bothered by Gokudera's exclamation.

"Range is a thing in ranking?" Tsuna asked, and the young boy perked up at the question, like he was excited to be asked such a thing.

"I didn't say it was out of range for ranking. It's atmospherically out of range."

Hotaru hadn't met Sailor Chu, but she was willing to bet her violin on this boy being the reincarnation of the immigrant from Chu.

"But there are more jobs for you than just being the right-hand man, Hayato-nii," continued the young boy. "Hayato-nii ranks number one out of eighty-two thousand, two hundred and three for people suitable as a kindergarten teacher."

She nearly choked on air. If she actually did make a bet, she would have lost her violin right there and then. There was no way that was a ranking accurate in any way, shape or form.

Everyone else, including Gokudera himself, seemed to think so as well.

Luckily (?) it was soon revealed that Futa's rankings were affected by the rain.

"How does that work?" Hotaru asked after introducing herself, genuinely curious. Not just because Futa, despite his earlier hiccough in ranking Gokudera's personality and likes, was very likely the reincarnation of someone from Chu, but because it was odd to her how Futa had powers related to his past life, while Tomoe Keiko had never shown any signs of that.

The closest thing Hotaru might say was relevant was her mother's love of perfume, and that was hardly something exclusive to residents of Cocoon.

Futa shrugged, the movement weak. "I don't like the rain," he mumbled.

Haru fretted over him, but Hotaru heard Reborn answer the question.

"I presume the ranking goes askew when it rains because the weather interferes with the ranking planet's connection."

Hotaru made note of that hypothesis to ask Sailor Chu about it.

* * *

When Saturn arrived at Titan Castle, Makaria greeted her with more eagerness than usual. She looked, bemused, as the fairy flew around her head like a deranged satellite, a blur of black, white and purple.

"What's gotten you so excited?" Saturn asked when Makaria finally stopped zipping around her head.

Panting, Makaria plopped onto her shoulder, as if she had just run a marathon and needed a break. "Hecate told me all about the spell Princess Pluto made!"

Ah.

With the placement of the portal making transportation easier, Saturn could come over more often. That was definitely a reason to be excited.

"Where do you think we should place it?" Saturn asked, because Makaria loved it when Saturn wanted her advice.

The fairy beamed. "I was actually thinking we could redecorate first!"

Without waiting for a response the Sailor Power Guardian leapt back into the air and flew towards the control room. Saturn followed, and found on the screens the program to rearrange the internal structure of Titan Castle up and ready to go.

"Were you waiting for this?" Saturn asked, because some of the plans were very detailed – too detailed to have been just pulled up on a whim.

"Of course!" The fairy clenched her two hands into fists.

Saturn looked at the plans. "No changes to the bathhouse?"

Makaria's face turned solemn. "It's perfect as is."

She laughed quietly, having used the large bathhouse to recover from her brutal training sessions during her rehabilitation. It was her own personal spa, enchanted to grow as large as she wanted or needed. She couldn't think of anything the bathhouse needed or changed, either. "True."

Enthusiastically, Makaria flipped through the plans. Some were just changes made in color – and yes, Saturn agreed that Titan Castle was a little on the dark side, she was right, lighter shades wouldn't hurt anyone – while others were full-on rearrangements, not just in furniture but in the very makeup of the room. Makaria wanted some rooms merged, others moved to different floors and sections, and in a few cases removed entirely to make room for halls or open spaces.

"It's not like they're being used," said the fairy with a shrug.

Saturn let Makaria walk her through all the changes, asking questions when she had any but for the most part nodding and listening carefully, and when they were done, gave her approval. Created by Queen Serenity in a time when magic was science and science was magic and advanced regardless of what name it was called, all Titan Castle needed was the presence and permission of the princess it had been bestowed upon in its domain to change, to start the procedure of magically renovating itself according to plan.

Within the span of a few minutes, Titan Castle was transformed. Makaria squealed with joy, and Saturn made a mental note to let her do more castle makeovers if she was this happy about it.

"So?" Saturn asked, when they were finished looking at all the changed rooms in the castle. Makaria had been right. Titan Castle had always been beautiful, but it had a dark aesthetic, with its primarily amethyst and black bronze decorations.

Those were still present in the castle, but now there were rooms with lighter colors that made it less dark. More welcoming, in a way.

Even if no one but the other sailor soldiers would ever come to Titan Castle.

Saturn smiled ruefully and focused on the matter at hand. "Where should we set the portal?"

She and Makaria put her heads together. Not directly to the controls room – it was too important a location already – but somewhere close.

"Maybe near the center of Titan Castle." Near both the main doors and the controls room. If there was an emergency, it would let her be ready to head outside the castle and fight herself or go to the controls room.

Makaria agreed, and they chose one of the newly merged and redecorated rooms. Walls the color of wisteria, with the large window covered by gauze-thin curtains, this room held a large part of what she recognized as her lamp collection. When she walked in, Makaria floating near her head, the lamps lit up one by one on their own until the room was aglow with dozens of soft lights.

It might have been a nice place to read a book, except there weren't any chairs or shelves, just light fixtures.

Because, Saturn realized, sighing. It wasn't just a room holding her lamp collection.

She reached out and brushed a finger against the nearest lamp, the one shaped like an orange bellflower. The magic of Saturn reacted, and she felt a not-unpleasant sensation, like a rush of air, go through her in response.

A moment later the lamp's light brightened. With the light that shone out from the center of its petals played a mirage-like projection of her memories.

In her old room at Mugen Academy, Tomoe Hotaru sat on one side of a coffee table, and on the other was Chibi-Usa. It was both her face and not. Her face in the past had been far gaunter than it was now, pale and almost bloodless.

Looking at the memory from back then truly let her realize just how much Tomoe Hotaru had changed. She was still pale in the present day, but not that much – not nearly as sickly as she looked back then, frail like a china doll about to teeter and fall to shatter on the ground.

But even through that unhealthy pallor there was a genuine joy sparkling in her dark eyes, and its cause was the pink-haired girl.

Sailor Saturn hardly had any memories. She let her eyes sweep over the varied lamps, finding all of their shapes and colors familiar.

This was her room of memories. Like how Venus had her mirror, the lamps here held her memories – as Tomoe Hotaru. Unintentional as its creation had been, they were hers.

In the far back, she caught sight of a torch alit with dark purple flames, crafted from black bronze and fixed to the wall. It stood out, in that it was the only torch in the room, but Saturn could guess which memory that one held.

Makaria swayed a little in the air, deep in thought. "It _is_ at the perfect location," she mumbled. "We could always replace the room?"

During the time they looked over the plans, neither she nor Saturn had given specific details about the purpose of the rooms. It was likely that Titan Castle added what was necessary according to her needs, or her subconscious.

Saturn shook her head. "It's not like anyone will be able to view the memories."

Only someone with Saturnian magic on them could key the memories and view them, and the only ones with that alive today were her and Makaria.

It wouldn't be a bad place to put the portal, besides, Saturn thought, one last glance spared to the rest of the room. It was a beautiful room, and the different lights, collected according to her tastes, gave the chamber the dreamy air of a fairy tale.

Chibi-Usa would have said it was romantic.

She let the fond memories down gently, and cast the spell to fix the portal to the front of the room.

* * *

AN: If that's not blatant foreshadowing I don't know what is.

Canonically Hotaru collects lamps. It's in her profile, and in the Death Busters arc when Chibi-Usa visits her room she has a lot of lamps. Venus has her memories stored in a mirror because mirrors are often cast as magical tools, and also, it's Venus so it was fitting. For Saturn I used lamps. Originally, I was going to go with torches but why not make it more relevant to Hotaru.

Futa is, as many guessed, the reincarnation of the immigrant from Sailor Chu during the Silver Millennium (and boy is that a mouthful). We'll say he was Chunese.

Also I'm participating in KHR Week on Tumblr this year because I've always wanted to get involved in fandom activities with other people but never really got a chance to due to social awkwardness and not paying attention, so that Mukuro/Hotaru fic is going up on the 21st for Day 8. Please look forward to it, and remind me if it looks like I've forgotten.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Pluto Quality

Setsuna: currently balancing researching curses and how to undo them, as well as focusing on her job as a physics professor, her hobby as a fashion designer and her life at home with family while on patrols to protect the solar system.

Also Setsuna: puts together a spell to make a stable portal, and refines it so that it can be held by a travel pocket mirror.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Hotaru: Wow, it looks like Kawahira planned everything, I wonder if he can see the future.

Kawahira: *Didn't tell Hotaru where Futa was due to his involvement with the mafia. Did not know the ranking prince would end up coming to Namimori and meet her. Cannot see the future* Say what now?

Sweet Dreams~


	29. Daily Life XIV

For Valentine's Day, all of them had plans. Michiru and Haruka were going out for date night, with a romantic dinner and drive planned for the evening. Setsuna was going to stay at home, preparing exam questions while keeping an ear open in case of emergencies.

And Hotaru was going to make chocolates with her friends. Haru, all three of them knew very well now, but the other two, Kyoko and Hana, were new.

"How was your test?" Setsuna asked, since that was the reason the girls were making the chocolates on the day of rather than the day before.

Haru beamed. "I think I got most of it! There was only one question that kind of threw me off, but I worked through it so I think I can get half-marks, at least."

Whatever Setsuna had been about to say in response was interrupted and forgotten when the front door, not fully closed, was thrown open.

And in the doorway stood a boy in nothing but a pair of heart-printed boxers, brows alit with an orange flame.

Setsuna, Michiru and Haruka had all seen a lot of things in their lives, including a rapidly growing infant and a handful of alien invasions, but for sure, this sight placed in the top five weirdest things they'd ever seen.

* * *

First impressions were important things. It affected how people thought of someone for the rest of their acquaintance unless something drastic happened. It was why he was still a little scared of Gokudera, why Reborn was sadistic and crazy, and why Dino was approachable and cool.

Tsuna didn't want to know what kind of first impression he had just given Hotaru's parents, but he could imagine – and it wasn't a good one.

Tsuna kind of wanted to die from embarrassment. This was all Reborn's fault, shooting him with the Dying Will Bullet and making him chase after Kyoko to Hotaru's house.

Just when all three of her parents were there. Any other time Tsuna might have wondered why Hotaru had three and why none of them looked like her, but he was a little busy trying to will the ground below him to open and swallow him and end his suffering then and there.

"It looks like Haruka's clothes don't fit you very well," murmured the dark-skinned woman that Hotaru had introduced as 'Setsuna'. She was beautiful in a mysterious kind of way, as if she had a secret. Her hair was green, and long enough to fall below her waist, giving her one of the longest hairs he had ever seen in his life. He was pretty sure there was this one lady he saw when he was younger that might have had hair to rival her lengths, but he didn't really remember.

Haruka, the androgynous blond whose shirt and shorts he was borrowing, raised an eyebrow at that. She was tall, much taller than Tsuna, maybe Yamamoto's height or taller, and was wearing slacks and a dress shirt with the same handsome air of an actor on the red carpet. Naturally, Tsuna didn't wear Haruka's clothes very well.

"Takeshi-kun is on his way," said Michiru. If Setsuna was beautiful in the way goddesses in paintings were, and Haruka looked like a model on the cover of a magazine, Michiru was the very image of 'ladylike' and 'princess'. She was elegant, not only in how she spoke, but how she moved. The opposite of Haruka, she wore a silk dress that ended near her knees, and she looked like she belonged in a fancy restaurant. "Just bear with it for a little longer, Sawada-kun."

"Yes ma'am," he answered immediately. All three of them scared Tsuna, because they were Hotaru's parents and he had probably given them a terrible impression, all but breaking through the walls into their house wearing nothing but his boxers.

He was lucky they hadn't called the police.

Still wanting to die of embarrassment, Tsuna shrank into himself.

From the kitchen, Hotaru poked her head out. "Tsuna-san, do you want to join us?"

"I don't want to intrude on girl time," he said feebly. There was Kyoko and Hotaru – which, when had they become friends? Why hadn't he known about this? – but also Haru and, surprisingly, Kurokawa Hana.

She acted like she usually did, which meant she gave him a very unimpressed look, but otherwise she looked like she belonged here, while he stuck out like a sore thumb.

All he had wanted to do was just find out who Kyoko was going to give her chocolate to. It was nice to know that she hadn't given chocolate to anyone, just come over to make them at Hotaru's house, but now he had to live with the consequences of Reborn shooting him.

"It's fine," said Haruka, making Tsuna jump in surprise.

"But it's Valentine's Day and I'm a boy," Tsuna protested. That was the day when the girls gave chocolates to boys.

Haruka quirked up one eyebrow, and she was nearly as frightening as Reborn. The only thing that kept Reborn in a solid number one was his tendency to shoot Tsuna, and his unpredictability. "What does gender have to do with anything?"

And it wasn't like he had anything to say to _that_.

Michiru leaned into Haruka's shoulder. "We'll be out of your way soon enough," she said soothingly. "Haruka and I'll be off for dinner, and Setsuna will be in her office if you need anything."

"She's not going to help make the chocolate?"

"No," said all three of Hotaru's parents in unison. There was a firm union to the answer that made Tsuna refuse to question why.

The doorbell rang, and Setsuna stood from her seat to answer it. Yamamoto came in soon after, holding a shopping bag and followed by Gokudera.

"I ran into him on the way here," said Yamamoto, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. Reborn, perched on Yamamoto's shoulder, waved innocently. "And he tagged along."

Gokudera scowled at Hotaru's parents and Tsuna nearly had a panic attack, fearing that Gokudera might say something rude or outright attack them for whatever reason, but he only gave a gruff, not-impolite greeting.

Haruka didn't seem impressed – at all – but Michiru and Setsuna merely accepted it with a pleasant smile.

"We'll be on our way now," said Michiru, arm linked around Haruka's. She gave all of them a warm smile as the couple stepped out. "Have fun, and don't let Setsuna in the kitchen!"

They closed the door, and Setsuna rolled her eyes. "You burn the saucepan _twice_ , and they never let it go."

Tsuna meekly raised his hand, figuring it was better to ask for permission to ask a question. "Could I borrow your bathroom again? To get changed?"

* * *

Even if the boys weren't interested in joining them make and decorate the chocolates, Haru still asked them to stay since she was making chocolates for Tsuna and Takeshi, and it wasn't like they had things to do.

"It's important to get the chocolates on Valentine's Day," she explained. "If you give it the day after, the meaning in it is half-price, just like the chocolates on sale on the fifteenth."

Takeshi burst out laughing at that logic, but they stayed. They had homework on them, and while Hotaru promised she'd help if they needed it, Gokudera was – surprisingly – smart enough to go through all the materials on his own.

Well, he certainly wasn't patient, but he knew the content.

"Although I don't know if they need to stay," said Hana, rolling her eyes as she tied back her hair. Since she wanted dark chocolate and Haru was a fan of white chocolate, they got the bowls and hot water to melt their chocolate. Hotaru and Kyoko preferred milk chocolate, so they got a larger bowl, the saucepan and the stovetop. "Gokudera and Yamamoto's certainly received more than enough chocolate at school."

That was unexpected.

"Gokudera-san did?" Haru verbalized what Hotaru had thought but didn't say. "What about Tsuna-san?"

Hana shrugged, and Haru faltered, eyes widening as it always did when she was worried, and her imagination went into overdrive as it focused on the worst possible outcomes.

Hotaru changed the subject before Haru could overthink it. "Who are you planning on giving your chocolate to?"

Hana tossed her tied hair back and raised her chin. "Myself. And my parents."

Haru gave her a curious look at that, attention diverted by the topic change. "Not to any of the boys?"

Kyoko hid a smile behind her hand as Hana scowled. "They're all monkeys."

'Monkeys', mouthed Haru to Hotaru, eyes wide as marbles as Hana started what sounded to be a very practiced rant.

"All the boys around our age are still stuck in that stupid, unevolved phase in life where they can't use their brains to think," she seethed, clutching the wooden spoon so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "They can't sit still in class, or pay attention, or even just listen or read the stupid instructions and then they do things completely wrong and go 'uh, I don't get it', like, why do you bother having a brain?! Why do you bother _living_?! Do the Earth a favor and stop breathing!"

"Hana-chan had to tutor her cousin," quietly explained Kyoko, as they melted the chocolate in a double boiler. "It stressed her out a lot."

"Or you have weirdos like Hibari," Hana continued her rant like Kyoko hadn't spoken. "Did you know he made that regent hairdo mandatory in his stupid committee? He rewrote the school rules and just took an office for himself, and the principal was like, 'yes, this is okay now'! He doesn't even go to class himself but the moment someone tries skipping or happens to be late he pops up out of nowhere and starts swinging weapons! Who _does_ that?!"

The word 'mature' _was_ a little hard to fit with what she knew about Hibari. Hotaru nodded while she stirred the chocolate. It was nearly done melting.

"And then you have the creeps who think picking on a girl is a way to show affection!" she cried out. "Who shows they like a person by sticking gum in their hair or stealing their books or flipping their skirts?! That's harassment!"

"Jerks!" Haru empathized strongly at that, slamming her hand down on the countertop. The sprinkles she had been sorting shook, and the neat piles collapsed and touched each other. "They actually do that?!"

Hana's eyes could shoot lasers, and while the anger in them weren't directed at Haru, the rage within her was clear as day. "Why do you think Kyoko's hair is short?"

"It was a few years ago, I don't mind it," piped up Kyoko, but Haru had already turned to her, eyes wide with horror.

"Kyoko-chan . . ."

"Never," seethed Hana. "Have I ever seen a boy who was even on the same maturity level as a girl his age. They're all immature, and they refuse to grow up, or plan ahead. 'Boys will be boys' is the stupidest thing ever because that just lets them act like monkeys and not human beings. No! If they want to be men, and be treated like men, tell them to act like actual men!"

The chocolate was melted, and smooth the way it should be. Hotaru grabbed the piping bags so they could begin to fill them. She was curious, though. "What's your definition of an actual man?"

The fury that lit her like a fire died down, and calmer, Hana began listing the traits. "He needs to be able to step up when he sees injustice, because he has pride in what he does and what he believes in. He needs to be able to speak against what others might be too lazy or too cowardly to go against societal norms for. He needs to be mature enough to not get swept up in what others say like mindless sheep."

It was quite the rousing speech she gave. Hotaru put down the heart-shaped molds to clap.

"Hana-chan's really mature," Haru noted. "Judging people by their personality instead of their looks."

A tinge of red spread across Hana's face. "Well, looks do matter, but personality's really important."

Then she elbowed Kyoko when the other girl started giggling. To hide her embarrassment, Hana picked up a piping bag and began filling the mold Hotaru had set before her.

"Oh, if you want to add nuts," Hotaru added, pushing forth the plate with the cashews, almonds and peanuts. "You could fill the mold halfway and put the nuts in before filling the rest if you want the nuts to be hidden, or just set them on the top if you want them to be decorations."

Hana chose the former, beginning to fill the chocolate with almonds.

"That's really specific," said Haru, working on her own. She chose to be diverse, going for the cashews and peanuts as well, and marked which ones were which with the colored sprinkles.

"The nuts?"

"No, the man."

Hana, finished filling her mold, shrugged as she added almonds to the top of some of them. "Yeah, well, he was a real person."

Melting the chocolate and pouring it into molds were easy. After the finished molds were put into the fridge to cool, Hotaru brought out the second chocolate recipe, thick ganache for homemade truffles. This was Setsuna's favorite, so the ones she was making right now were for her parents. The ones in the mold would go to her friends and Kawahira.

The cream was set on the stovetop to begin warming up, and Hotaru began washing up the dishes. Kyoko was the first to stand next to her to help, which left Hana and Haru to clean up the other parts of the kitchen and set up for making the ganache.

Haru was ready to swoon at hearing Hana's dream man was a real, existing person. "He sounds really romantic."

"I wouldn't know." Hana shrugged, a casual air to her actions, but her long hair couldn't hide the red tips of her ears. "I only met him once."

Kyoko took the bowl Hotaru finished scrubbing to wash and put on the drying rack. "He's Hana-chan's first love."

Hana gave a side-eyed glare that had no effect whatsoever on her smiling friend. "Kyoko, you traitor."

"Was it a secret? Sorry, Hana-chan. But I didn't share his name."

Hana grumbled something under her breath. Hotaru pretended to have not caught the words "I don't know his name, either".

"If it'll make you feel better, Hana-chan," said Haru. "My first love has a great personality, too!"

The odd look Hana wore suggested she didn't know whether to be doubtful or insulted. "In what way?"

Haru didn't notice. "Well, no names for me as well, but he's kind, and gentle, and considerate."

With each word Hana's disbelief became clearer.

"But when he needs to be, he's assertive and strong! And that's what makes him so amazing, and why I love him, because it's harder to be gentle than it is to be strong, but he only uses his strength to help others, like when I was about to drown and he saved me."

True. It was never just how strong someone was, physically or magically. Sometimes it was how strong they were as a person.

Like Usagi, who never gave up on her or the other sailor soldiers. Like Tsuna, who saved Takeshi and Haru even when he hadn't been close to them.

Being kind was hard, and took a strength underrated and unknown by too many.

The cream was close to boiling. Hotaru turned the heat off and removed the saucepan. "Careful."

The girls leaned back from the steaming saucepan to let Hotaru pour the cream into the bowl of chocolate chunks. Now they just needed to let it sit for a few minutes to let it melt before stirring it up.

Haru took the saucepan to clean and put it away while Kyoko turned to Hotaru. "What about you, Hotaru-chan?"

She hadn't expected the conversation to come to her. "Me?"

Kyoko scratched her cheek, her eyebrows tugging low sheepishly. "I don't have a first love, and I'm not really sure what my 'type' is, other than someone I love. It's a little stupid, but that's it."

"It's not stupid," Hotaru said automatically.

First love.

She didn't even have to think hard about her first love. The first person to look at her, even when she was on edge from a pained attack, with worry and not scorn. The first person to reach out to her when the rest of the world wanted to suffocate her and tell her with genuine eyes that she was precious, someone of worth.

In the midst of a life where she was slowly being strangled to death, desperately treading in an endless, painful dark, Chibi-Usa had been a light so bright and dear.

She defined Hotaru not as a creepy girl, or the weird daughter of the freaky scientist, but as Tomoe Hotaru, a person of great value just by being her. She protected, fought for and didn't regret meeting Hotaru, even after Mistress 9 stole her soul and crystal.

"I think," Hotaru said slowly. "Someone with a beautiful smile."

Because Chibi-Usa had been the first to show her just how beautiful a smile could be when empty of malice or ill intent, and the first to teach her just how soothing it was to smile with someone, instead of being the one on the receiving end of taunting grins with eyes that looked down on her.

Her smile had been like the moon – the brightest celestial object in the night sky, making the terror of the dark disappear.

Oh, and one more thing. "And someone who can cry for me."

That was probably terrible of her, but it was still something important to Hotaru. Sailor Cocoon's visit had reminded her of a memory buried deep in her head, something she might have been avoiding thinking about for a long time.

Tomoe Souichi had never wept for his wife, after the accident that took her life. Maybe he had, while Hotaru was in the coma, but never had she seen the rims of his eyes reddened, or any tears run down his cheeks for Tomoe Keiko.

Hotaru had given up on pretending Tomoe Souichi was a kind father a long time ago, but to realize that he hadn't been a good husband to her mother either hurt in a different way.

"Even if it's not love in the romantic way, but for someone who loves me in general." Pain and conflict were going to be in her life. That was a fact.

What she wanted wasn't someone that would try to fix it, but someone that would empathize with her pain. Someone who loved her enough to look at her pain and feel it as their own. Like how all the sailor soldiers had wept, when she first came to Namimori.

Not like her father. He carried out surgery after surgery on updating the robotic limbs grafted to her body, and back then Hotaru had clung to the belief that this was his way of love – trying to fix her, trying to heal her, using what he had. That he was a good man, a good father who was just trying to help his poor daughter.

But not once had he looked at her pain and felt the need to shed a tear or worry about her suffering. It had always been about what he could do, the opportunity she was to him, and never about being there to hold her hand through the pain. He never felt the hurt himself, watching her be in agony.

"Is that what your first love was like?" Hana asked, a teasing smile quirking her lips upwards.

Hotaru nodded, and Haru flipped.

"Hahi?! You had a first love?!" she screeched, and Kyoko, shocked by the sudden rise in volume, nearly knocked off the bowl of cream and chocolate. Only her quick reflexes managed to save the bowl from making a mess on the kitchen floor.

Hana, the closest to Haru, winced and belatedly clapped a hand over her ear.

"Sorry," Haru apologized, but that wasn't enough to deter her from the topic of her focus. "When? How? Who?!"

Hotaru answered in the order Haru asked the questions. "Before I met you or Takeshi. There was," 'an attacking Daimon made from a cat by an ethically dubious professor working with invading aliens' was not okay to say. "A falling object about to crush me and she pulled me out of the way. She was a pretty girl with pink hair and a beautiful smile."

"A girl?" Haru grabbed her shoulders with both hands, and while Haru was her best friend, Hotaru had to admit the manic look in her eyes did scare her a little.

"Yes?"

Hotaru could have been drowning kittens as adorable as Diana, one by one, right in front of her and Haru wouldn't have looked more heartbroken as she did now. "Are you telling me all this time I was forcing the idea of a prince on you when I should have been talking about princesses?"

Hotaru couldn't help it. She burst out into uncontrollable giggles. It was just so _Haru_.

"I'm serious!" wailed Haru while Hotaru laughed, Hana stared and Kyoko smiled. "I feel so terrible now! Hotaru-chan, you should have told me if I was making you uncomfortable or being stupid or running my fat mouth or-"

She calmed down enough to pat Haru on her shoulder. "It's okay," she reassured her. "Gender doesn't matter in love."

Haru looked at her with starry eyes at that, and Hotaru broke into giggles again.

"I'm sorry to interrupt the moment," said Hana, a light frown creasing her brows, "but did you say a falling object was about to crush you?"

"Oh," Hotaru realized. "I nearly died back then." With all that happened after, she'd forgotten a minor detail like that.

"Hahi?!"

If it weren't for Kyoko eventually reminding them about what they had been doing, the ganache truffles would have been ruined.

* * *

AN: It brings me much sorrow to say that this is the last regular update in the foreseeable future, as I'll be busy and have less time to write. Sorry guys, I really wanted to reach the end of the Daily Life arc on a regular pace but I guess that's not happening.

It took a lot of effort to make this chapter land on the 14th of the Daily Life arc. 100k+ words and the seeds of romance have been sown! (Readers: what is this glacial pace)

I nearly had a heart attack when I saw Bianchi melting the chocolate on the stove directly like it was soup because that's not how you melt chocolate, what are you doing.

Hana's cousin, the one she tutored, is a part of the disciplinary committee. They pretend to not know each other at school. She doesn't like the DC or Hibari for that reason. Hana's first love and the reason why she likes 'mature guys' is actually Hibari Kyoya's older half-brother, making him a Hibari too, though she doesn't know that part. Irony is fun.

If you think about the traits Hana's listed so far, and compare them to what we know happens TYL . . . I mean she's not wrong.

See you all on the 21st!

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Outers: Oh, he _does_ have Usagi's blessing. [+10 approval points.]

Tsuna: They probably hate me and think I'm a pervert and a terrible influence on their daughter and I can't blame them for thinking that can lightning just strike me dead already.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

The girls: Talking about types and first love.

The boys: *Can hear everything*

Gokudera: *Those are all traits the Tenth has!*

Tsuna: *kind of in the middle of hope and despair on hearing that Kyoko doesn't have a first love, but her type is vague and how do I fit that*

Takeshi: *First time hearing this* *Is it okay to listen in on girls' talk*

Conclusion: Not much homework was done by the boys.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	30. Daily Life XV

The start of the new school year gave Hotaru a sense of déjà vu, in that she found herself face-to-face with the head of the music club again.

At least this time there wasn't another tug-of-war using her as the rope.

"I'm actually here on behalf of Komachi-senpai," said the third year who inherited her position.

Komachi Mirai, who, despite having graduated Midori Middle to go to a high school of equivalent standing, still had much school pride, and pride in general.

"Here's the thing, Tomoe-chan," said the newly minted high school student, when they met up after school ended as per her request.

She launched into a tale, and Hotaru had to admit, she was an excellent storyteller. Had she not been an ardent lover of music there might have been a career for Komachi Mirai in storytelling or hosting television programs.

The story she wove essentially boiled down to there being a rivalry between Midori and the other 'elite' school in Namimori – Yumei Academy. Yumei – according to Komachi – looked down upon Midori because they were an all-girls school and didn't place very high in most athletic fields (Here, Hotaru was more than a little happy to hear that they were the top in gymnastics, because school pride and Haru pride).

This rivalry was no exception between the music clubs. Until her final year Komachi had fought against the music club of Yumei, tooth and nail, pouring her blood, sweat and tears into the club and music, and not only did she pass the rivalry onto the juniors, but she carried that torch within her.

This summer, there was a recital. It was an annual event of Namimori, and certainly wasn't exclusively for the students of Yumei and Midori. Anyone in the age range was permitted to participate.

Just because it wasn't for Yumei and Midori exclusively didn't mean that there wasn't a competition. They usually sent the most performers, and while it wasn't a competition – officially, Komachi stressed, there was no official prize or judges – there was certainly much on line.

Everyone participating, after all, had musical talent of some sorts, and knew good music when they heard it. The point was to play well enough to make the other side admit defeat on their own accords and terms rather than rely on a third party to be the judge. An honor system, of sorts. It wasn't an individual victory, but rather a victory for the school.

"I wasn't going to participate this year," Komachi admitted. "I did graduate, after all, and it wouldn't have been fair."

But all bets were called off when she caught rumors that there was a 'wild card' team. A graduate of Yumei – coincidentally a rival of Komachi's, ever since they clashed back in their first year of middle school – was participating in the recital with a junior student.

"Supposedly," Komachi ground out, "he's doing this because he wants to give his cute kouhai confidence. Ha! That arrogant jerk-face doesn't give a damn for his juniors, he just wants to win and be smug about it! Dirty, rotten, sneaky _rat-faced bastard_!"

In short, Midori needed to send a wild card team, as well. Yumei might have had them beaten in numbers, but certainly not quality (still according to Komachi). Since the whole rivalry between the schools were still 'unofficial', Midori could claim victory and bragging rights even if the performers weren't actually members of the current music club, just connected to Midori.

Examples of technical representatives from Midori being either a graduate of the school who had led the club during her junior high days, and a current student who, despite her musical talents wasn't actually in the music club (still Komachi's words).

"Tomoe," said Komachi, dropping the suffix, eyes filled with a steady but desperate want. A need. A resolve. "Will you form a duo with me, and kick Yumei ass with music?"

Hotaru agreed, if only because it was a little funny how dramatic Komachi was.

* * *

"You're getting better at this," complimented Kawahira, resting his face on one hand with his elbow on his knee. "Soon we could move onto real illusions. If I don't end up busy again."

The last of the illusion, a vase with flowers in it, broke and faded away.

"I had a good teacher," murmured Hotaru, leaning back in her seat. He was becoming absent more frequently again, but he still took out the time to teach her how to break illusions. What real illusions were, she wasn't sure, but if – when – he covered them, she was sure she would know the difference, and how to break them too.

That was the key word. 'Break'.

"How come you won't teach me how to create illusions?"

Even after criticizing her projections and talking about true illusions, all he did was make her break them. He explained the basis behind illusions, the theory and therefore the weaknesses to the techniques, the tricks to regaining her sense of reality from the illusion, but never once had he taught her how to create illusions of her own.

Kawahira reached out to ruffle her hair. "Greedy child," he teased. "Already one of the strongest beings in this solar system, yet you want more."

Heat rushed to her cheeks at that, even if she knew he didn't mean much by his words. When he put it that way, though, it did sound like she was being greedy. "I didn't mean to demand anything."

He laughed. "I know. I'm joking. Mostly."

Kawahira leaned back, and the light caught on the thick lenses of his glasses.

"Or maybe," he said, as the slight smile slipped from his lips. "Maybe I'm not."

A finger tapped at the table before them like a metronome, his habit of not keeping his hands still when he pondered something kicking in. "Maybe if you were weaker, I might have taught you how to be a powerful illusionist."

The air grew heavy with the weight of something serious – memories, regrets, sorrows, experiences that had been painful.

"Does that mean you need to be weak to be an illusionist?" After she said it, Hotaru regretted her choice in words.

Kawahira shook his head, not insulted. "It just requires a certain . . . mindset, that's all."

'Any illusionist worth their salt has struggled at least once with the concept of reality', he told her once, when they first started these lessons. 'Toed the insanity of what they dealt with as they tried to define what has no correct answer.'

Those words felt significant, now, as Hotaru remembered that Kawahira, as Acheron, was old, had seen things worth several lifetimes in a single, albeit very long and unusual one.

Kawahira shrugged, as if to shake off the heaviness of the air. "No," he said, his words ringing with a finality. "I won't teach you how to be an illusionist."

Because of what he had said – that she was plenty strong already even without needing to know how to create illusions – Hotaru didn't feel rejected in any way. She nodded.

He smirked. "Be satisfied with having the power to end a world, Hotaru-kun."

And when he put it that way, well, what could she say to that?

* * *

Raised by Michiru and Haruka – who was an excellent singer and piano player herself, just not on Michiru's level – Hotaru had pretty high standards when it came to playing instruments.

Even for her standards, though, Komachi was quite impressive. She could play the violin, which was why she had the violin when Hotaru was just starting middle school, but she also played the flute and piano, and had a rather lovely singing voice.

For the upcoming recital, though, she wanted to play the piano while Hotaru played the violin, because it gave her the most range and was also her favorite instrument.

"Which means we just need to figure out what piece to play," said Komachi. They needed to choose, not only to practice the pieces, but also to send in their choice and put a claim on it.

Hotaru wasn't all that interested in doing a pop song, something that made her senior exhale in deep relief, before giving her a rather apologetic look.

"Sorry I'm such a snob, but in my defense so are the Yumei kids," she explained, leaning back. The piano bench was hardly a good place to be lounging like she was, but that didn't stop Komachi from doing it. A part of Hotaru worried that she might end up losing her balance and falling. "Even if we covered a pop song to make the original artist weep in envy, they'd still say we were too contemporary."

So, no pop songs. Something classic. Komachi insisted on not doing Beethoven or Mozart or Chopin. "They're overdone because a lot of them don't have an ounce of creativity."

That seemed rather personal, but again, Hotaru didn't protest. There were other beautiful pieces in the world they could choose from. "What are you thinking of?"

The question lit a fire in Komachi, and she straightened from her slouch. "Something known, but not often performed or heard in recitals. Something that has an original factor but also a name value. Something with a _meaning_ , you know?"

She pulled out a CD player and revealed quite the impressive collection of albums. Hotaru recognized a few by Michiru. The ones in Komachi's collection were the ones Michiru herself said were her favorites.

"Are you a fan?"

Komachi glanced over at the CD case Hotaru held and grinned. "Of Kaiou Michiru? Who isn't?"

Truer words had never been spoken. Hotaru gave her more credit after that, deciding that since the older girl clearly had excellent taste, she could rely on her make good decisions.

Zigeunerweisen. Pachebel's Canon. Clair de Lune. Each one was placed into the CD player with surprising gentleness and listened to for a little before Komachi grabbed a different album without needing to even check the name and replacing it.

"What about Tchaikovsky?" Hotaru suggested, while The Carnival of the Animals played. "The Nutcracker's famous."

But Komachi shook her head. "Someone from Midori's already doing a piece from the Nutcracker. Ugh, I'd do Fiume except anything from Pandora loses impact without the context, and it's better with an actual singer."

The introduction ended, and the next movement began, pianos and strings recreating the sound of pecking. Komachi's head whipped around, and her entire face filled with the light of rapture like Archimedes might once have as he shouted 'Eureka'. It was the light of inspiration, the arrival of an answer to a question challenging the soul.

"I can't believe I didn't think of this before!" she cried out, and her hand darted out in a blur like a hawk swooping down on an unsuspecting rabbit. "I'm a genius!"

The album was robbed of its CD, and while Komachi replaced the contents of the player with her answer, Hotaru picked up the discarded case.

"Danse macabre," announced Komachi, as the twelve repeated notes of a harp announced midnight's arrival.

A symphonic poem about the personification of Death, on the night of the day when the boundaries between the worlds of the living and dead was thinnest.

Komachi would never know the reason for Hotaru's amusement at the choice.

* * *

The part about going over to Longchamp's house – okay, Tsuna could accept that. He was blocking out the part where Reborn mentioned destroying the Tomaso Family, but yeah, this was just going over to a classmate's house. Not a big deal. Normal people did that. Sure, Longchamp and he weren't all that close, and Longchamp was weird, but that was basically Tsuna's life at this point.

Yamamoto and Gokudera coming with him? Just an extension of that. Classmates. Excusable. Arguably normal. Normal was good. Normal was great.

"But why are Haru and the kids coming, too?!"

None of them were classmates with Longchamp. None of them even went to Namimori Middle, and as far as Tsuna knew none of them had even met Longchamp before.

Haru looked far too happy, and Tsuna wondered if going to a complete stranger's house wasn't as rude as he thought it was, if no one else was going to notice it being weird.

"Oh, don't worry about me," Haru chirped. "I'm just going to watch you at work, I'll leave soon."

"It's not work!" Tsuna howled.

Haru pouted, but Tsuna saw the glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Besides, I'm really lonely nowadays, Tsuna-san. Hotaru-chan's so busy we hardly get a chance to hang out!"

Hotaru was busy?

"That's true," agreed Yamamoto. "Man, I wish she could have come along, too."

One day, his blood pressure, which was undoubtedly sky-high even at his young age of thirteen, was going to kill him. "We're going to a house we weren't even invited to!"

* * *

AN: It's a special day for me so I decided to update.

In case you missed it, Saturnine is up. It's Petrichor-AU, meaning it's not canon here but does have similar elements. No, Mukuro/Hotaru is not the endgame ship, please enjoy the crack ship over yonder.

This is the Longchamp series of chapters going on, which means for Tsuna it's a life where Hotaru's presence was replaced with Longchamp. (Tsuna: I'm developing cancer here)

Komachi is from Daily Life I, the music club senior. She graduated but came back because you can take the girl out of the school, but you can't take the school out of the girl (readers: what). Yumei Academy is the private school Irie Shoichi goes to.

No, Kawahira's not teaching Hotaru illusions. He's teaching her how to break them, but not how to make them or use them in fights.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	31. Daily Life XVI

When she agreed to be Komachi's partner for the concert, Hotaru forgot about the critical part of a concert – the audience. Performers performed for someone watching, after all, and too used to playing for the sake of learning and playing, Hotaru forgot about the aspect of standing on a stage where a large number of unknown people would be watching.

She only began to realize that when Komachi asked her if her family would be coming.

"Family?" Hotaru repeated, a sudden weight dropping in her stomach. It wasn't anything about her family coming to watch that jabbed at her nerves, but rather the realization of other performers also having their family there.

In other words, a large audience.

"Or friends." Komachi shrugged, unknowingly making things worse, because family members weren't the only ones that would be attending. "I told Haru-chan to hold off on getting tickets just yet, in case you wanted to be the one to give them to her."

She had a few for her and Takeshi and the others, yes, but . . .

She was going to be performing. In front of a large audience.

Feeling faint, Hotaru swayed.

"You alright?"

"I think," Hotaru answered, her voice sounding distant to her own ears, just as distant as Komachi's own slightly panicked voice. "I need to sit down."

* * *

"Stage fright is completely natural," said Michiru when Hotaru recounted the feeling at home. Komachi had been worried, but Hotaru insisted she didn't need to go to the doctor, she just needed a little rest.

Really, it was a psychological thing. A hospital wouldn't help with that.

Hotaru gave her three parents a slight glare. Haruka raced in front of huge, cheering crowds – made up of people who liked watching fast cars, at that. Setsuna taught physics to a lecture hall full of university students. And Michiru? Michiru was a famous violinist who had concerts when she was still a teenager.

She didn't want to hear about stage fright being natural from them.

But they were sailor soldiers, they protected the solar system. They weren't going to be scared by a little glare being shot towards them.

Michiru tucked herself in to the seat next to Hotaru on the sofa and leaning her head on her hand. "During one of my first recitals, I was wearing a white, frilly, lacy dress. I looked like an angel and my parents loved it, but it was very frilly, especially around the neck and shoulder area."

A hand traced across Michiru's slender neck and shoulders, and Hotaru grimaced at the areas her mother pointed out. Frills there had the unfortunate side effect of encouraging the violin to pursue dreams of becoming a figure skater.

She nodded. "Exactly. I made mistakes on stage because my dress made the violin slip in my grip. I was mortified, so by the time I was done, my face was red, and I felt like I was going to cry. I went home that night swearing to myself I was going to never wear something covering my shoulders again, not while playing the violin."

Michiru always wore evening gowns when she performed. She especially liked the dresses Setsuna designed and made for her, and Hotaru had seen her wear something from Triton Castle a few times.

"Only the people who try something can make mistakes," said Setsuna. "Are you going to be too afraid of mistakes you might make to ever try something?"

Sometimes the right words helped. Sometimes the right words kind of sucked.

"No," Hotaru dragged the word out, very reluctant but knowing they were right.

Michiru tittered. "If it helps," she said. "I never play for the audience. It's always just me, on my own. Well," she amended. "If it's a solo. If I'm performing with someone else, they're included, but otherwise, I'm in a world of my own, and nothing else matters except the violin and I."

Hotaru took note of that. Just ignore everyone. She could probably do that.

* * *

When he had to tell Hotaru that he couldn't make it to her recital because the date overlapped with the cruise his mom won in the raffle, Tsuna was wracked with guilt, even when she told him it was alright.

Now, it was stress that tormented him, because Reborn. That the cause of his pain and suffering could be summarized into one word was both impressive and sad.

The familiar face and attitude of the latest agent of chaos in his life didn't help his rocketing blood pressure, either.

"Longchamp, why are you here?!"

"That's what I should be asking you!" Longchamp, ever upbeat and unflappable, grinned and pointed at him with a finger gun. "Sawada, you're going to Mafia Land, too?"

While Longchamp's latest girlfriend – who, following his trend, also looked like someone not from this planet – asked questions and his family popped up, loud as usual, Reborn answered his question.

"The ship's heading to the tropical mafia paradise." Tsuna's tutor had slipped back into the costume of curled hair, a bowl of fruit and a wreathe of laurel leaves. His usual black suit, unfortunately, Reborn hadn't yet put back on above his birthday suit.

"Stop taking your clothes off!" he shrieked, the knee-jerk first response, because Tsuna had priorities. With his usual protest to the unusual shenanigans of Reborn given, Tsuna could now address the question he had.

"Mom won this off a raffle, from a bottle cap. This shouldn't have anything to do with the mafia."

The best crusher of hope Tsuna knew of didn't fail him. "That's just a fake notice I slipped in to give her a much-deserved vacation."

After the usual panic and despair at being dragged into yet another mafia mess, Longchamp did something incredibly uncharacteristic and helped uplift Tsuna's mood.

"You shouldn't be surprised, Sawada," he said, clearly enjoying how his girlfriend had her arms wrapped around his shoulders lovingly. It was a bit of a terrifying picture, but Longchamp seemed more than comfortable with it, and at least this one wasn't trying to turn Tsuna into an ornament. "The entire island is a super fantastic vacation resort!"

The cruise ship arrived at the destination moments after, and Tsuna was treated to the sights of a tropical island amusement park, bigger than any theme park he'd ever seen. Even the distance between the island and the cruise ship couldn't keep the details from standing out.

Okay, so maybe this was something he could look forward to after all.

Tsuna didn't know how wrong he was, or just how much suffering he'd be subjected to merely hours later at the hands of not one but two sadistic babies, and the attack of a third.

* * *

With Tsuna and everyone in his house, plus Gokudera, gone on a cruise, Takeshi's life got a little quieter and more peaceful. Not that Tsuna made life hectic, or that Hotaru was boring, but the average volume certainly decreased in his day-to-day activities.

Neither was bad, Takeshi decided, thinking about it. The mafia game was fun, because it was exciting. Spending time with the girls like the old days was also fun, because it was relaxing.

Though attending a concert was new.

Takeshi fidgeted, tugging at his collar. He was never one to wear the school uniform perfectly unless he absolutely had to. His tie usually had a way of going slightly askew, and his uniform less than pristine. The unfortunate side effect to prioritizing movement and mobility over, well, looking like a polished student.

"Takeshi-kun," hissed Haru at his side, eyesight like a hawk at the slightest sign of a fashion crisis. "Your tie's getting crooked."

She made him hold the bouquet they bought for Hotaru and straightened it for what felt like the twentieth time since they had met up. Haru was dressed up really nicely, too, in a light aqua colored dress fancier than her usual clothes. Her hair was loose and curled, instead of pulled back in a ponytail.

Takeshi had thought they were a little _too_ dressed up, but looking at the people attending, he guessed they weren't too bad. He still had no idea what semi-formal was supposed to mean, but he knew enough to know that jeans and a t-shirt, his original plan, was probably not the best choice.

"A little fancy," he muttered. He was still growing, but his dad insisted that he have a suit, and bought one a size larger than what fit at the time. He'd grown taller since then, and now it fit him perfectly, but he felt dressed up. Kind of like his uniform, but stiffer.

Definitely not threads to play baseball in.

Michiru, on the other side of Haru, smiled at that.

"Just wait until you're attending formal events," she whispered, covering her mouth with the pamphlet of performers to muffle the sound of her voice to everyone else. Hotaru had to go early for dress rehearsal, so it was Michiru who picked them up and brought them. She was also wearing a dress, coincidentally a similar color to Haru's, but she looked natural in it, like she was born to wear dresses to fancy events like parties and concerts. Haru looked like she was having a lot of fun and Takeshi just felt awkward. He hoped he didn't have to attend a lot of formal events.

Hotaru's other parents couldn't make it, but neither Michiru nor Hotaru had been bothered at their being unable to attend. Takeshi understood the reason when they arrived, and more than a few people recognized Michiru.

"Hotaru-chan said Michiru-san was a violinist," whispered Haru, as yet another person – this time a young man – came up to Michiru, face flushed and words stuttering. "But I didn't know she was this famous."

"Neither did I," Takeshi whispered back. He guessed it made sense that people who were into music would know more about famous violinists. If he saw a pro baseball player at a school baseball game, he might be excited too.

"It's an honor, really, and, oh wow, I'm sorry, I'm kind of acting stupid but I'm a huge fan and," the man cut himself off, as his face turned even redder. A tomato would have been jealous.

Michiru took it all in stride, a pleasant smile fixed on her face.

"Thank you," she said politely when he paused to breathe.

Somehow he flushed even deeper. That color couldn't be healthy or normal on someone.

Haru reached over. "Michiru-san," she said in a loud whisper. "Sorry to interrupt, but can I ask a question?"

This time the smile Hotaru's mother gave was more genuine, less fixed.

"Of course, Haru-chan. Excuse me," she added to the man, who was still too awe-struck to do anything else but nod. After a moment he finally snapped out of it and walked away, dazed even after being politely dismissed.

"Doesn't he know you have Haruka-san?" Haru mumbled angrily. It wasn't a lie that Haru had a question for Michiru.

Michiru giggled. "He was just a fan."

Haru gave her a look of exasperation. "Michiru-san, you never know what they might be actually thinking, or be up to. If he's a big fan like he said he was, then he should have known about Haruka-san."

A laugh burst out from Michiru's lips before she raised a hand to stifle it. Takeshi didn't know what she found funny, and from Haru's frown it was clear she didn't either.

"Never change, Haru-chan," Michiru said when she finally stopped laughing into the palm of her hand.

* * *

After the first song, he dozed off. The music was nice, sure, and they played far better than he ever could, but it was also kind of boring and definitely not his thing. While Takeshi could respect that there were people in this world different from him, he also couldn't hold most of them in high enough regard to fight the oncoming, suddenly desperate need to sleep they also brought with them.

There was only one person here whose performance Takeshi wouldn't sleep through, and they weren't her.

Haru just sighed and put the flowers in his arms, using him as the flower holder, and promised to wake him when Hotaru was on stage.

When a hand shook his shoulder, he snapped out of his sleep. Around him, people were applauding. Takeshi patted his face to make sure there wasn't any drool. "I'm up."

"Hotaru-chan's next," said Haru, resuming clapping. Careful to not drop or damage the flowers, Takeshi clapped too, to make up for sleeping through their performance. The two boys on the stage were leaving, carrying a trumpet and a cello.

"Komachi Mirai and Tomoe Hotaru," said the announcer, a middle-aged man in a suit. "With Danse Macabre."

There was his reason for being here. Takeshi clapped until his palms burned.

Seeing Michiru so used to all this fancy stuff and the attention was one thing.

Seeing Hotaru step onto stage, violin in hand, was another thing. It was like a line had been drawn, showing Takeshi all too clearly that they really did have very different worlds. She looked like this was all natural to her, the piano and pianist behind her, at the center of the spotlight.

Despite being the center of attention, Hotaru carried herself and the violin with poise, unaffected by all the eyes fixed on her like they had no weight.

"She looks dark," murmured Haru, and she was right. As if outside the hall it wasn't stifling with the heat of summer, Hotaru – and the other girl on the stage with her – was in black from head to toe. The dress wrapped around her neck, leaving her arms uncovered, and her skirt ended a little above her knees, but every bit of clothing she wore was black. Even her legs were covered with black tights.

In stark contrast, her face and her arms, the only parts of her completely uncovered, looked pale, almost bone white. Takeshi had good eyes, and his sight helped with baseball, but it also came in handy now.

Hotaru didn't look out to the audience. Her eyes were kept lowered, even as she raised the violin to her chin.

She didn't practice the song in front of them, wanting to save the impact for the concert, but she did tell them about the piece she would perform, a few days before today.

"Danse macabre?" Haru repeated.

Hotaru nodded. "It's French, for 'dance of death'."

Haru leaned back. "That sounds dangerous."

Takeshi was in agreement with her there, because as far as he knew dancing to the point of dying didn't sound all that fun.

Hotaru corrected them both. "It's based on an old story, where it was said that Death – or the personified version of . . . him . . . appears on Halloween and plays his violin while the dead rise from their graves to dance."

"Oh, that kind of dance of death," said Haru. "That still sounds kind of scary, though. Do they just – dance forever?"

Hotaru shook her head. "Only until the rooster crows, and then they go back until next Halloween."

Scary stories did fit with summer, so he thought it might fit. "But why are the dead dancing?"

At the time, Hotaru had smiled. "Because once you're dead, it doesn't matter who you were in life – whether you were a king, or a slave, or rich, or poor. Death – and the dance of death – is equal for all. Everyone is a part of it."

Now, a solemn, almost unfamiliar expression to her face, eyes closed or lowered to the strings in fierce concentration, Hotaru was playing the song the dead danced to, and the melody was every bit the eerie, chilling one Takeshi could see Death playing to make the dead dance, one night in the year. In the song that filled the stage, and the hall, she led, and the piano followed, and all eyes and ears were focused on her. No one danced to the violin, but it was like what she said – Death was equal to all. No matter who they were, they listened, caught up in the song she played and unable to look away or even think about anything else.

The eerie but not entirely unpleasant melody grew stronger and higher, and faster, and that ghostly feeling trailed down his spine until –

Abruptly, it broke off. Heart pounding, Takeshi watched as Hotaru's violin released a different song than before, a sound like a rooster crowing.

The piano picked up, and the last parts of the song, while still eerie, were the sounds of something receding. Slowly, bit by bit, with every last note Hotaru coaxed out and the piano played, the dead were returning to their graves.

And Takeshi was regaining the breath he didn't know he had been holding, slowly waking up to the world of the living, outside the one that Hotaru had created.

Hotaru held the bow and violin for a moment of silence, and then lowered both slowly. As the pianist came to join her, Takeshi nearly dropped the flowers from applauding so hard.

He couldn't fall back asleep after that, but the rest of the concert was kind of a blur. He didn't really remember much of it. More people played the violin and piano, as well as other instruments, but no one matched Hotaru in skill or impression.

When the concert was finally over, there was only one goal in mind for Takeshi and Haru. It took a bit to find her, through the crowd, but eventually, fighting through the waves of people – Haru using Takeshi as a body shield to break through and Takeshi using every last advantage his height gave him – they found Hotaru.

The girl at her side, taller and older, looked in their direction and her eyes widened until they rivalled dinner plates.

"Tomoe," she hissed, grabbing Hotaru's arm. She probably meant to keep her voice down, but it was very audible to them because she was too excited to properly control her volume. "Tomoe-chan. Tomoe. Pinch me and make it hurt."

Hotaru obliged and she winced. "Ow! Oh my god, I'm not dreaming. It's Kaiou Michiru. She's here. Why is she here? Oh my god. _Ohmygod_."

Michiru got a very mischievous look in her eyes, and she immediately sauntered over to Hotaru, pretending not to notice the pianist hyperventilating at her approach.

"Hotaru," she said warmly. "You were amazing. I told you that you should have faith in yourself."

"You did," Hotaru agreed. The girl at her side looked like she was about to have a heart attack, especially when Michiru leaned over to press a kiss on Hotaru's temple. "I'm just glad it's over, though."

"And you must be Komachi Mirai," she addressed the older girl. "Hotaru's told me so much about you."

The world could have ended and Komachi wouldn't have noticed. "Yes," she squeaked out.

"Thank you for being a good partner and senior to my daughter."

Hotaru slipped away to let the starstruck girl speak with her mother. "Haru, Takeshi!"

She was already holding a bouquet of flowers, most of them purple with a few yellow roses here and there.

That made Takeshi pause. His original plan was to give her the flowers he was holding, but was that okay to do if she already had flowers?

"I'm so glad that's over," Hotaru said, smile full of relief. "I was scared I'd mess up the whole time."

"I think Komachi-senpai's crying," noted Haru, peering at the girl with Michiru.

"Probably," agreed Hotaru, not even looking back. Her attention fell on the bouquet Takeshi was holding, somehow miraculously still intact, and she brightened like there could never be too many flowers. "Are those for me?"

Given an answer to his question, Takeshi handed her the flowers. Hotaru beamed and let them in the crook of her other arm so that she was cradling two bouquets. With a slight bend of her neck, she was able to bury her nose into them. "Thank you, they're beautiful."

"Haru picked them," he said, feeling the need to clarify. It was a premade bouquet they got, and while Haru picked one with purple flowers – the same one the first bouquet was mostly made up of, he could see that now – but it had a bunch of different flowers, and different colors too. Pink, white, yellow, orange, red, everything.

Their bouquet seemed _wild_ , almost, next to the neat organized one she had, and against the black dress was eye-catchingly bright.

But not in a bad way. Takeshi was wrong. She hadn't looked natural on the stage. Or, well, she looked powerful and majestic and chilling, almost like Death playing the song that would make all the dead rise from their graves to dance, but here, smiling and hugging the flowers, she looked alive and happy.

She looked like Hotaru.

Takeshi reached up to tug at his tie again, because his collar was getting a little tight. It was really hot in here, probably because of all the people swarming around.

* * *

AN: Updating because I saw Aladdin yesterday and also, new banner on FEH.

Slow and steady wins the race (and gives shippers cancer).

Originally Hotaru was going to be in a dress with lace sleeves but after Googling violinist fashion and reading an interview with Anne-Sophie Mutter I went with the design in the artbook, so she's wearing a halter neck dress instead. If this chapter was from Haru's POV there would be a lot more about fashion, but from Takeshi all we get is the color contrast between the dress and her skin (Haru: FOR SHAME).

The song of the chapter is Danse Macabre, by Camille Saint-Saens. I like several versions, but this chapter is probably closer to the one by Chloe Trevor and Jonathan Tsay or Clara Cernat and Thierry Huillet. I adore the one by Sefa Emre Ilikli, and how he ends it at the dramatic part, but for the sake of the theme of Hotaru's powers it was important that the dead all returned to their graves at the break of dawn instead of staying out.

Kawahira sent the bouquet. He came in to listen when she performed, and then left. The bouquet is purple irises ('compliments') and yellow roses ('platonic love and appreciation'). He's old-fashioned, worked as a composer before (see previous chapter, Fiume) and from the Golden Kingdom, roses are a must.

Setsuna and Haruka couldn't 'officially' make it because Haruka had a race in Europe and Setsuna had a lecture. Unofficially, teleporting is a thing.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Michiru: *has dealt with obsessed fans, stalkers and more than a few people who don't understand the word 'no* This is just a nervous, genuine fan.

Haru: *Worried someone trying to break up the most beautiful OTP she has* *Does the Girl Rescue*

Michiru: *Didn't need it, but appreciates that Hotaru's friend is willing to step in* What a Good Girl.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Tsuna: Man, all of Longchamp's girlfriends look like they're not from this planet.

Every sailor soldier on Earth: Excuse me?

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Fake it till you make it

Hotaru: *quietly panicking because stage fright*

Takeshi: Whoa she looks like a natural.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Fake it till you make it 2

Takeshi now: man, dressing up is so stuffy

Takeshi TYL: *fighting people trying to kill him in a suit with a sword and box weapons*

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	32. Daily Life XVII

With summer vacation here, and their summer homework finished and set aside, they were free to do what they wanted until school started again.

When Haru shared the plans for the next day – to go to the beach with friends – her surprise was clear on her face when all three of Hotaru's parents donned grim looks of worry.

"Is something wrong with the beach?" Haru asked. Hotaru didn't know what the problem was, either. She knew how to swim. Sailor Neptune had made sure of that herself, in the oceans of Neptune itself. A beach on a nice, clear day was hardly going to be an issue for her after learning how to swim in the deep oceans with a polearm in her grip, even when she wasn't Sailor Saturn.

"The problem," Haruka said with full seriousness not befitting her next words, "is that you two are very pretty girls."

Haru blushed and covered her cheeks with both hands. "Hahi!"

"Why is that a problem?" Hotaru asked, because the frown on Haruka's face, the silent agreement in Setsuna's eyes, and Michiru nodding were all clear signs of agreement among her three parents. This was not a joke, or meant to be a compliment, it was actual worry.

Michiru sighed. "Because the beach is a public place where the chances of running into rude, entitled and-or perverted people increase exponentially."

"Ohh." Now Hotaru understood. She had actually forgotten, going to a school exclusively for girls and not having social interactions outside of the circle that had adopted her. Tsuna, Takeshi and Gokudera weren't the types to flirt or say inappropriate things.

But Setsuna was a young professor of a subject that was considered masculine. Haruka was an athlete, in a sport where rivals on her level of fame were predominantly male. Even Michiru had to deal with the deep-rooted sexism in the world of classical music. All three were objectively and subjectively very good-looking people who had gone through their share of idiots and harassers in life.

"Remember the last time?" Setsuna recollected, a faraway look in her eyes, and not in the good sense. " _Five_. Five men came up to me – two of them at the same time – and asked for my number using the worst pickup lines known to the history of womankind. The two that came together were having a staring contest like I was some kind of a prize. They had the nerve to look _betrayed_ when I just walked away, and tried to stop me physically."

"That's terrible!" Haru cried. Takeshi nodded from where he was sitting, a slight furrow to his brows as he listened.

Setsuna smiled at the genuine distress they displayed. "It's fine. They 'tried'." _And failed_ , said the smug light in her eyes.

"And sometimes, that's actually the better alternative," Michiru complained. "You could get psychopaths who build up a fantasy about you and decide that's the real thing, and try to 'fix' you for not fitting their fantasies because heavens forbid you be a real person with your own preferences and thoughts."

Michiru could attest to that. She had a restraining order against a stalker, and she was just _waiting_ for the chance to 'abuse' the power of the Kaiou family to put him behind bars the moment he stepped out of line.

Haru cringed. "Does that happen?"

Michiru wasn't going to lie to Haru about the realities of what could happen. "Much more often than you might think."

Haru looked a lot less enthusiastic about the trip, and Haruka, always of the belief that anything daring to tell her who or what she could be and stopping her from living her life needed to be fought head-on, decided to fix that.

"Takeshi-kun," she said, climbing to her feet. "Get up for a moment."

Bemusement coloring his eyes, Takeshi nevertheless followed Haruka's example.

"Stand tall," Haruka requested, pulling herself to her full height. Takeshi was tall for his age – tall for the average Japanese male, really – but Haruka was the type of person called 'Amazonian', with most of the men she met around her being shorter than she was, and Takeshi was no exception, though there was only a slight difference between them.

"If anyone touches you in any way," Haruka said as she put her hands on either side of Takeshi's neck. That, though, wasn't the most threatening part of what she was about to do. "Grab them by the shoulders like this and knee them in the-"

Takeshi flinched, guessing by her words the direction of her next action, and Hotaru pulled Haruka down before she could carry it out. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry, Takeshi-kun," Haruka apologized. "I was just going to demonstrate how close you should be for a proper impact, not actually do it."

Because Hotaru knew how strong Haruka was, and because Takeshi had a faint idea of how strong she was, both of them exchanged a look of deep relief.

"No problem, Haruka-san," he said, ever easygoing. But the fear had been clear, as evident in his next words. "Can I sit back down?"

Haruka nodded, and Takeshi sat back down rather quickly.

Haru, though, brightened as she remembered something. "That's okay, though! We're going with Tsuna-san, he can definitely protect us."

"You should still be able to know how to defend yourself," said Haruka, not looking very impressed at the thought of Tsuna protecting them.

"No time now, we'll cover self-defence when we have more time," Michiru said. Haruka nodded at her logic, accepting that being taught something poorly might end up being more harmful. "But Takeshi-kun would be excellent repellent for people who don't get the word 'no'."

"Me?" Takeshi pointed at himself with a finger at being called out, and not for something that required a demonstration that would be potentially painful on his part.

Michiru lifted her lips in a patient smile and nodded. "A lot of times just having a man – or," she added with a wink towards Haruka, who smirked, "a person that makes a lot of men feel inadequate in comparison – makes those that come on too hard back down more easily."

"You mean they finally give up when before they seemed to think every 'no' was 'keep trying, you're impressing me but I'm playing hard to get'," Setsuna muttered darkly.

Takeshi looked at Setsuna, and then back at Michiru. "Really?"

Michiru nodded. "You're tall and good-looking, and with you nearby quite a few people will be discouraged from trying anything."

"Ahahaha, thanks, Michiru-san."

She shrugged. "It's an objective fact. Can we count on you?"

"Sure," Takeshi agreed immediately. "Is there something I should keep in mind or do?"

"Keep an eye out, and if they're harassed by someone step in." Haruka listed off in rapid succession as if she had just been waiting to be asked. "Inappropriate comments, contacts or gestures are grounds for instant disposal."

"Haruka-papa," Hotaru said, because that last word was a little unnerving. What exactly did she mean by instant disposal? If she was thinking the same thing, then that wasn't something she should be telling Takeshi to do.

"What?" Haruka looked completely unrepentant and Michiru hid a giggle behind her hands.

"Have I ever told you about the time she stepped in with a fan I met at a CD store?" she asked Takeshi and Haru, who shook their heads. "A man recognized me and came up, saying he was a fan and that he had all my albums, and reached out for a handshake while asking me out for coffee. Out of nowhere Haruka reaches in, grabs the man's hand instead and shakes it hard enough to rattle his entire body while smiling and thanking him loudly for buying my CDs."

"You were backing away, and he kept pressing forwards," Haruka interjected. "A sore hand isn't something he can't recover from."

"It looked red and swollen to me."

With the same look of complete unrepentance, Haruka raised an eyebrow as if to ask, 'so?' Michiru smiled. "You could have squeezed harder."

Haruka grinned.

"Other than violence," Setsuna said as Hotaru sighed at the antics of her other parents. "You can also turn to authority figures. The beach should have lifeguards, so if anyone ever makes you uncomfortable, they should be able to help."

"If you can't reach the lifeguards or if they can't help, and those as-"

"Haruka!"

"-jerks," Haruka censored herself immediately. "Are still bothering you, do whatever you need to make them stop. Give them a kick to the groin, scream, punch them, call them 'desperate ugly pathetic perverts who can't get dates without using force' or whatever."

Haru giggled, and encouraged, Haruka threw out even more suggestions until all of them were laughing.

"Just remember," Setsuna told them. "It's never your fault. No one has the right to take away your right for happiness, or force you into something, or make you uncomfortable. This applies to you too, Takeshi-kun."

Takeshi blinked at his name, before his eye crinkled into a smile. "Thanks, Setsuna-san."

* * *

Hotaru's parents had incredible foresight in predicting the presence of rude and self-entitled people who came on too strong at the beach, but even they hadn't predicted that the people of authority – the lifeguards – would be those very red flags to avoid.

"These are the senior lifeguards," Kyoko's brother said proudly. This wasn't the first time Hotaru met Kyoko's brother. They met at the zoo, back when the lion broke out, and at first glance it was hard to tell that he and Kyoko were related. He was tanned, with white hair cropped close to his skull, and was extreme. His word exactly.

He was a nice guy, though, which made Hotaru wonder if she had misjudged the lifeguards he introduced. Sure, not even a minute ago, they had been bullying a boy younger and smaller than them, but maybe she had them mistaken for someone else. It might have been hard to mistake those faces, but maybe.

"Hey guys," drawled the one in the middle, and it wasn't right to judge someone by their appearance, but the sneering smirks they wore gave Hotaru a greasy impression.

And Hotaru didn't like greasy things, food or people.

"They were on the Namimori boxing team when I started middle school," said Ryohei. In the short time she knew him, Hotaru's impression of him was 'extreme' and 'loves boxing'. This was only adding to the latter, although if he knew these lifeguards from when he was in his first year . . .

Hotaru looked back at the lifeguards, amazed. "They're in high school?" With those faces?

The one on the right, with the clean-shaven head, preened for some reason after giving her a look over. "That's right."

And that there was the biggest shock of the day. A bomb could go off and she would still think that.

"I thought they were in their late twenties, at the very least," Hotaru mumbled. And that was a generous guess. Her honest guess would have been thirty-two. They looked older than Setsuna. No, that was an insult to her mother. Setsuna still looked – and, physically, _was_ – in her twenties.

And that was because she was a sailor soldier, and kind of immune to aging. That didn't apply to her friends.

This was terrible. Stricken by this newfound realization, Hotaru backed up and towards Takeshi, digging into her bag to pull out the large bottle of sunscreen she packed. While changing, Hotaru and the girls had already applied liberal amounts so she didn't have to worry about Haru, but she knew Takeshi wasn't going to have taken nearly as much care.

"Takeshi," she said, dead serious. He was with Tsuna and Gokudera, and yes, they needed protection from the sun too. "Here."

He accepted the bottle. "Sunscreen?"

"Put it on." There was living proof – three of them, just in case one wasn't enough – on the importance of needing proper protection from the sun's lights right before them. Hotaru would accept no arguments.

"Where? My face?"

"Everywhere. I'll help you with your back, just -" Skin cancer was a thing, too, how could she have forgotten? It was a good thing the bottle was new, there should be enough for everyone. "Everywhere."

Haru overheard her and realized her line of thinking. "Oh my gosh you're right. Tsuna-san, I can help you put sunscreen on, too."

Kyoko, who noticed and did not look like she enjoyed the attention her brother's seniors were showing her, jumped to join them, reminding Hotaru that the lifeguards were still there. "Onii-san, you too. You never wear sunscreen."

"Extreme men don't need sunscreen!"

"They do if they don't want to look like they're thirty in their teens," Hotaru muttered. It was unkind of her, but also kind of true.

Gokudera overheard her, and he snickered.

"What did you say, Hotaru-chan?" Kyoko asked, and the guilt prickled her conscience.

"I said, they do if they don't want to get extreme skin cancer," she said, loud enough for Ryohei to hear. If Gokudera snorted, well, he was a weird person already, and he didn't snitch her out.

Between that and Kyoko, it looked like Ryohei would put sunscreen, too. All was well.

"Well aren't you a smart little lady."

Hotaru stiffened in surprise when an arm came to rest around her shoulders. Or not.

"Hey!" Haru looked like she might spit fire. "Hands off Hotaru-chan!"

"Yes, hands off, please," Hotaru agreed, pushing the arm off. The lifeguard with the shaved head, taller than even Takeshi or Haruka, let her push him off, but he didn't step away, and he was smirking. It was one thing to know Michiru was psychic, but it was another thing to have her worries come true.

She had thought it sounded bad when she heard her parents recollect their far-from-fond memories. It was so much worse in person, and extremely uncomfortable to the point where Hotaru wanted to shrink back or hide herself despite having no reason to do so.

Takeshi used his instructions from three very dedicated mothers and put himself between the lifeguard and them. Unlike when he was being told by her parents to work as repellent, he wasn't smiling like he was playing a game.

"Your sister and her friends, huh," the one that looked like the leader drawled. "Tell you what – we'll keep them company while you guys watch the beaches. Sound cool?"

She must have misheard. She hoped she misheard.

"Why the hell do we have to work for you?" Gokudera demanded, and usually she might have frowned at his rudeness, but today Hotaru felt like cheering for him. Her words exactly.

Apparently it wasn't just their skins that had been negatively affected by prolonged exposure to the sun without proper protection, but also their brains. The lifeguards challenged them to a race.

"Three on three, in a swimming race. The losers will be slaves to the winners."

"What are you talking about?!" Haru exploded, patience truly run out. There were several things Haru disliked by virtue of her fiercely protective nature. Poor treatment of children, because children were supposed to be protected, not abused. Betting, because she despised gambling. Slavery, because of how it reduced a person into a belonging, a property of another person. Jerks, because jerks were jerks.

Somehow, within minutes of meeting them, the lifeguards had managed to hit all those points near the top of Haru's list. It was impressive, in all the wrong ways.

Before she could let them have it, though, the coach Ryohei introduced them to hopped onto Haru's shoulder.

"Sounds interesting!" Pao-Pao said, blocking Haru's mouth with his gloved hand. "We accept the challenge!"

Hotaru tried to protest – there were so many things wrong with this that she didn't know where to start – but before she could get so much as a word out, the glove lightly bopped her mouth. The same fate awaited all the others that tried to protest.

"Then it's decided," said Ryohei's senpai while Hotaru wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, grimacing.

"What are you doing?!" Tsuna demanded to the short man in the elephant hat.

Pao-Pao had the audacity to brush Tsuna's rightful anger off. "You just have to win."

Tsuna spluttered at that, but it did make Hotaru rethink it.

"Well, that's true," Takeshi agreed, but the competitive light in his eyes betrayed his easygoing tone. "Okay then."

A smart and good friend would have discouraged this. The best way to handle it would have simply been to report the lifeguards for not doing their jobs properly and get them fired. Sure, they might become vengeful stalkers, but if the lifeguards were the type to be that petty, then society would be much improved by them being carted off to jail.

That, though, required patience, long-term planning and not having the instant gratification watching her friends beat lifeguards in a swimming race.

On the off chance that her friends lost, Hotaru figured, she could always point out the legal, moral and ethical issues of lifeguards slacking off from their jobs to race junior high students. They wanted to abuse their positions? Fine, she'd just make sure they couldn't do that.

How would they abuse something they didn't have any longer?

Haru still wasn't ready to drop it, so Hotaru nudged her lightly. "Let's cheer them on," she said brightly.

"Hotaru-chan . . ." Haru looked concerned.

Hotaru lowered her voice, just so only Haru and Kyoko could hear her. "I want to see what their faces will look like when they lose."

Kyoko and Haru's faces slacked in surprise, but it wasn't long before a mischievous smile spread on Haru's face. "You're a genius."

"I have my moments," Hotaru agreed modestly.

Kyoko's smile was too sweet to be called full of mischief, but it definitely had an edge that didn't exist in her usual smiles, and it was all-too-clear that she was _definitely_ in with them.

"We'll cheer you on!" she promised the boys.

"Absolutely," agreed Haru.

'Win,' Hotaru mouthed to Takeshi, who was the first one up. He grinned and nodded.

She exchanged a high-five with Haru and Kyoko when Takeshi pulled ahead of his opponent. A part of her mourned the fact that the race wasn't anything related to baseball or pitching things. He would have creamed the competition. Hotaru comforted herself with the knowledge that it was more damaging to someone's pride, to beat them at their own game.

Hotaru's smile dropped, though, when only one swimming figure appeared from behind the island. And – those were dreadlocks. It was a considerable distance, but that wasn't Takeshi. She knew what her friend looked like and it wasn't him.

"Where's Yamamoto?" Tsuna asked, worried about the same thing.

"Maybe his leg seized up and he's resting on the island?" asked the shaved lifeguard, the one that had put his arm around her. He was smirking that greasy grin now, as if the thought was funny.

"As soon as our guy gets back, round two will start," said the leader of the trio.

Not a single word of concern for Takeshi. Whatever standards had been applied in picking lifeguards, their moral obligations to keep people hadn't been included in the process. Disgusted, Hotaru kept watching, but she didn't catch sight of a second figure coming from behind the island, and with every passing second her worry grew.

And so, too, did her fury.

The second match – between the shaved head and Gokudera – started, and Hotaru went up to the lifeguard with dreadlocks.

"Where is he?" It took a lot of effort to keep her voice from being demanding.

He pretended to not understand, but he certainly wasn't a good actor, not with the smirk pulling his lips upwards. "Where's who?"

And there went what was left of her patience. This probably wasn't what her parents had expected when they told her, Haru and Takeshi to use whatever means possible, legal or not-so-legal, but Hotaru rid herself of any and all restraints stemming from social niceties. "My friend, you incompetent, pathetic excuse of a lifeguard. Where is he?"

The smile slipped from his face. Good.

"Don't you think you're being a little rude?" he asked. "Pretty girls should smile and be pretty, y'know, silent."

There was an irony in him telling her, the soldier of silence, to be silent, but he didn't know, and she didn't mistake for one second that he meant that in a good way.

"Don't you think a lifeguard who can't even prioritize the duties of his job is an inept idiot undeserving of his position?" she riposted frostily. "And no, they shouldn't."

A scowl twisted his face.

"Listen," he said, probably in an attempt to be threatening. "Your friend's just enjoying the nature on the island while he massages out a cramp. Now I'd like an apology for the rude things you've said, because I don't think I deserve it when it's your friend's fault for deciding to lounge around on the island-"

"Where's Gokudera?!" Tsuna cried out, and Hotaru turned. Sure enough, only one figure was swimming back, no one to the front or back of the returning competitor. And Gokudera's silver hair could glint under the sunlight, true, but that was a shaved head she saw over there.

"Hm? Your second member's gotten the cramps too?"

How thick did someone's skin have to be, to say that with nothing but a smirk?

Hotaru softly growled. This was her fault. She shouldn't have encouraged them, she should have just played it smart from the first place and reported these arrogant, inept people and removed from their positions before they could end up getting someone hurt or killed.

Ryohei volunteered to go check on them, but the lifeguard that hadn't yet swum to the island stopped him.

"They're just communing with the nature over there," reassured the senpai. "Don't disturb them!"

Hotaru saw red.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she wanted to be like Michiru or Setsuna in response rather than Haruka's physical methods – though honestly the idea of slapping some sense of decency into them was tempting – and spoke.

"You're telling me," she said, forcing her words to come out slowly and not raised. "That not one but two lifeguards saw someone possibly in trouble while swimming and prioritized a race where the prize is them slacking off their job?"

As lifeguards, they had the job of being on watch for any dangers the people on the beach might be exposed to. It was a heavy duty, because accidents happened, and life could be fragile. It was blatantly obvious that they didn't understand the weight of what they were entrusted with and didn't care about their ignorance. They were unashamed of it.

For a moment the smirk finally caught up to the amount of grease he exuded and drowned out of sight, but to its credit, it persevered and returned like a worse sequel to a bad movie.

"You might not understand, but it's a matter of pride that men can't give up," he explained 'patiently'. Haruka's method, Hotaru reminded herself, was no good, especially when she didn't have the strength to back it up and make it hurt nearly as much as she wanted it to be, though it was awfully tempting and growing more so with every word. "We're just respecting their wishes, y'know? It's hard to accept help from a guy you were just competing with, and as seniors in life, well, it's only fair we respect that."

"Incredible," Hotaru said. The feeling that came when she witnessed injustice or cruelty, the creeping cold combination of disappointment and disgust gripped her heart. "Every word of that was nonsense."

If she ran out of any more patience, she was just going to end up transforming into Sailor Saturn to go after them. What Kawahira said, about some people in town being sensitive to large uses of power the way she was for a while, was the only reason why Hotaru hadn't already.

Because it was starting to make Hotaru physically ill to have to look at him, much less talk to him and deal with his idiocy, she turned and walked up to the ocean and began to stretch. Change of plans.

"Hotaru-chan?" Haru asked. "What are you doing?"

The oceans were calm. It had a rather unlikable person swimming in it, but the 'lifeguard' that had raced Gokudera was getting closer to the beach and would be out soon. It wasn't anything threatening or dangerous, compared to Neptune's oceans.

If Hotaru drowned here, Michiru would throw her back into the abyss that was the seas of Neptune and not let her out until she could beat a mermaid in a swimming race, all the while dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief and woefully lamenting how she had failed as a teacher.

"Stretching so I don't get 'cramps'," Hotaru said, the last word full of vitriol as she glared at the lifeguard coming closer. "While I swim over there and make sure Takeshi and Gokudera-san are alright, because I don't trust the words of people who don't understand the very definition of their job titles. Want to come with me?"

Lifeguard. Someone who guarded life. Was that so difficult a concept to comprehend, even without understanding just how valuable life could be? Everyone had pain and suffering in their life, and everyone was eventually destined to die. It was natural for people to struggle to live, to continue taking in even one more breath of air. Life was precious, incredibly so.

Death, by drowning or by whatever other means, wasn't something to be joked about or glossed over so carelessly. There was a reason the release of her greatest power was done without a single word, and why she was the soldier of silence.

Silence spoke what words could not convey, and her silence was that of respect and remembrance at the moment of the end.

Hotaru had no reason to be so significantly silent at the present, and there were no wordless condolences she would give right now.

Action spoke what words couldn't, too.

Haru darted to her side and kicked off her shoes. She had a wide smile on her face. "Totally!"

"Hold up," said Pao-Pao. "We still have the third race."

"Pao-Pao-san," Hotaru said, scraping together what little patience she had if only because it was Ryohei's teacher speaking, and not one of the lifeguards. "We have priorities."

But he persisted. "Don't you have faith in your friends?"

She wavered at that. Takeshi was strong, athletically fit to the point of impressing even Haruka. And Gokudera, she assumed, was also pretty decent. Before reaching that island, he had been leading in the swimming race, which was impressive. She did have faith in him. That was why she believed he and Gokudera would win the race with ease and crush some baselessly high pride.

"What if there was an accident, though?" A jellyfish, a rock they accidentally swam into and hit their heads against, a sea snake, a hidden whirlpool like the kind Neptune's oceans had too many of, maybe even a cramp, like the lifeguards claimed. No cramp was contagious, so it seemed doubtful that both Takeshi and Gokudera would have gotten it, but still.

The third race started as Pao-Pao grinned reassuringly. "You're a good friend. Don't worry, Hotaru-chan. I'll go check it out. I can't let a girl have to run the risk of carrying back two heavy boys on her own."

Haruka's usual retort, 'what does gender have anything to do with that', nearly came to her tongue. Sometimes Hotaru wished she had the super strength of Haruka and Makoto, if only to look at gender expectations and toss something heavy into their face, or better yet, toss them flat on their back like Haruka was so fond of doing.

It was unfortunate that even as Sailor Saturn, she was one of the weakest sailor soldier, physically. Actually, since Mercury was an excellent swimmer, Hotaru was fairly sure she was physically the weakest among them all.

Truly unfortunate.

"Okay," she said instead, even if she wasn't entirely satisfied. "Thank you."

Pao-Pao picked up a tube and turned to Kyoko's brother. "Ryohei! Stay with the girls while I go!"

"Yes, sir!"

As Tsuna and Ryohei's senpai were halfway to the island, and Pao-Pao floating off after them, a scream pierced the background noise of the beach.

"My baby!" screamed a young mother, pointing towards the ocean. Not too far from where Tsuna and the last lifeguard were swimming, there was a small figure.

While the lifeguards on the beach once again proved their incompetence – Michiru had to know how to get their information and prevent them from ever being put in a job that gave them responsibility over safety and lives, she just had to if only to keep Hotaru from going crazy – and Hotaru was ready to go swim towards the girl herself, Tsuna turned away from the race and swam towards the girl to save her the moment he realized what was going on.

"That," Hotaru murmured, relieved as he began bringing the girl back. The crowd's cheers buried her words, but that was fine. "That's why."

Usagi knew how to distinguish good people. She knew that, knew Tsuna had a model heart, but still, it was especially noble and heartwarming when compared to the people whose actual jobs were being done by her friend.

Pao-Pao ended up being right, as well.

"You mean these kouhai?" Gokudera's voice was familiar enough to snap her out of her thoughts, and Hotaru turned to find him and Takeshi standing on the beach, both secure and safe.

There were a few people unconscious at their feet, but they were dressed in the uniform speedo of the lifeguards, so Hotaru didn't give them much attention.

She sighed in relief as Gokudera and Takeshi approached the senior lifeguards. The instant disposal method, Hotaru figured, wasn't as bad as she had initially expected.

"Don't forget the sunscreen after you're done," she reminded them, as she took a seat under the shade of their umbrella. When she got home, she was heading to Titan Castle for a soak in the castle's baths.

* * *

 **NOTICE** : I keep forgetting to say this because on AO3 it's in the tags and also I can post a timeline / trivia there, but -

1) Petrichor is SM manga/crystal canon.

2) On my AO3 you can see the timeline for the story I made, as well as a list of 'trivia' / production notes. Some information is [REDACTED] to avoid spoilers.

The obligatory beach episode. This is also the part where Gokudera goes from 'acquaintance' to 'sort-of-friend' for Hotaru.

AN: Updating because CYL 3.

A part of me wondered if I was being unrealistic. Then I remembered the catcalls I got while walking home, the stories I heard from other people both in-person and online, and figured, nah, reality's more unbelievable. The girls are canonically super pretty so I figured they'd definitely have it worse than I ever did.

Gokudera and Takeshi, by beating up the other two lifeguards, unintentionally saved them from the wrath of Sailor Saturn. She'd never abuse her powers and threaten their lives, but still, close call there.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Hotaru when faced with people being inappropriate to her: This makes me uncomfortable I'm going to back away and try to change the subject maybe they'll go away.

Hotaru when her friends are in danger: HEY YOU INCOMPETENT IDIOT BACK OFF.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Hotaru: *more confident than she was while in pain and with Prof. Tomoe* *role models include Haruka, who's blunt as a sledgehammer about confronting nonsense; Michiru, who can cut you up with her words while smiling elegantly; and Setsuna, who wields facts like a weapon when she has to* *Lived for years with a 2000 year old man once infamous for having a barbed tongue and a blunt Granny who never once told her or Haru to take bullshit lying down.* *protective of her friends* Listen you incompetent excuses for a lifeguard, where's my friend. You know what, I don't trust you to save him, I'll do it myself.

Parents, Kawahira fam, holding up a phone camera: You're doing amazing, sweetie.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	33. Interlude II

In a kingdom where immortality was the norm and the residents lived like the gods in the heavens, Princess Serenity had been the abnormal. While those around her had written off the mortal planet of Terra as inferior for their short lifespans, perhaps pitied them if they were kind and saw them as foolish savages if they were not, Serenity saw the flame of life burning in them, the vitality that others had missed.

For that she held them in high regard. Unlike most of the court she had not set worth by the lengths of their lives, but by their passions and vibrancy, something the moon had lacked in its perpetual serene harmony.

And Endymion, the mortal prince of a golden kingdom, fell in love with the maiden from the heavens, a god of myths by all rights but by no means as arrogant or as cruel as tales claimed. She opened his eyes to the world beyond his boundaries and knowledge, fell in love with the fire in his heart – and he fell in love with her kindness. It was not her divine beauty that drew him in, but her empathic heart, her ability to love the differences that others claimed a reason to hate.

How could she have possibly resisted against someone who lived as no one she knew had, who desired so much to learn to become better not just for himself, but for everyone? How could he have possibly resisted against someone who truly yearned to understand him, who wanted to learn who he was?

* * *

Contradictions were a must in life.

Hitmen had to understand the weight of life, if they ever wanted to be dealers of death. Criminals needed a code of honor to become kings of other sinners.

And sometimes, to keep the peace, you needed to shed blood.

The Vongola was once like that, back in the generation of Vongola Primo – a group of vigilantes, who could no longer turn a blind eye to the suffering that went on in their sights while the law remained lax.

Times changed, and so did the Vongola, but they were big, and the strongest, and they were a stabilizing force.

If the Vongola collapsed, if it was no longer the strongest linchpin holding the underworld in a state of relative peace and control with its presence, then there would be a war. Maybe it would start as an internal war, with factions dividing in the family. Maybe other families would smell the blood and come to prey upon the dying king of beasts, once mighty but now frail and vulnerable to the scavengers.

There would be a vacuum in the underworld, and by its nature power – and people – abhorred vacuums. It was so abhorred that it seemed to scream a desperate need to be filled, and as if enchanted by a siren's song drew people in to fill it.

Often, much like a siren, the vacuum called and took many lives and much blood until the void was filled to come to a peace, of sorts.

But by then how many would have become caught up in the maelstrom? How many would have died in the crossfire – the innocents, the ambitious, all lives?

The Vongola had a large territory. Even if the family came out as victors, how many would have dared to try and take a bite? Who would listen to Lady Luck, the fickle woman that she was, perched on their shoulders and whispering in their ears the sweetest seductions to just be bold, to take action?

 _Carpe diem_ , Fortuna might whisper, but it would be the innocent that would bleed, and _memento mori_ ignored until too late.

Timoteo was old. Enrico was shot. Massimo was drowned. Federico was finally found, but only his bones, and for all that the family had been built on bloodshed bones could not sit on its throne.

Xanxus was not an option, judging by the look on Timoteo's face.

Reborn lowered the brim of his hat. Personally, he would have preferred to impart more things to Dino. He was still lacking, and it was by no means because Reborn was a perfectionist.

At least he wasn't clumsy when his subordinates were around. That was an improvement.

He sighed. In the end, he was still going to have to let Dino out into this world. He had already made his first kill, felt the blood on his hands and seen the light of life leave a man's eyes. There was only so much a teacher could do for his student before he had to let his student be his own, and life always had a way of calling away someone before they were ready to part.

And this calling was something he couldn't ignore, not with its implications.

Reborn knew where he had to turn his eyes, to see the proof for his reason for living.

Dino would be as fine as anyone could be, in this cruel, harsh world.

Even so.

"You want me to teach a civilian." Reborn's voice was child-like, had been since the curse, but it was flat and unimpressed, and for good reason.

A civilian, to take over the strongest mafia family.

And a foreigner, to boot. He could just imagine the resistance to _that_ , and it was no pretty picture his mind conjured up.

A boy who didn't have a clue about his heritage, who had grown up living the life of a civilian in a country halfway around the world.

At least Dino had been aware of his inheritance and the significance of the situation, and, despite his pathetic reputation, had been _known_. This was going to be a Sisyphean task, doubly so because even after he succeeded ( _if_ he succeeded) then there was still the matter of the Vongola Decimo surviving his new life.

Reborn didn't like it, but he accepted. And with that acceptance there would be no more dragging his heels – only dragging his newly-assigned student into a living hell to keep him alive.

On the brim of his fedora, Leon shifted positions.

It wasn't even because the Vongola Nono was someone Reborn might consider a friend, or because the Vongola was, despite all those fruitless years, his best chance at breaking the curse.

It was for the sake of the 'peace' maintained in the status quo where the Vongola was the strongest. It was for the safety of Aria, the curse that gave her a mother in baby form all her life passed onto her at the age of sixteen around her throat like a glittering manacle, the very least he could give her. It was for Dino, so that he could keep his title as the Bucking Bronco and stay alive and not die while defending his family and territory in the inevitable wars that would crop up should the Vongola shake or outright collapse.

Reborn flew out to Japan to make a Michael Corleone. No matter the odds, he was the world's best hitman, the strongest Arcobaleno –

And he didn't fail. He succeeded, or he died. No in-betweens.

* * *

Nicola Fiume was an eccentric man. There were many ways to describe him, but at the end of the day, it was simplest and most accurate to say that he was 'eccentric'.

As the most eccentric tended to be, he had a considerable amount of good fortune, as if Lady Luck herself favored him. A composer with radical methods and plots, the only reason his operas were able to be put on stage was the money he had access to, courtesy of his sponsors despite his reluctance for social interactions. There was much controversy around the stories of his operas, but he ignored all his critics, regardless of whether they praised or berated him.

Despite the gossip and noise, and his dislike for social interactions, Nicola Fiume was never short of performers. He married one of the greatest singers of the time, and she starred in all his operas, either as the lead role, or in one just as significant. He paid his people double the usual fee and gave hefty bonuses after every performance.

Musicians and performers called it good will. Critics called it bribery. His rivals – composers that had the misfortune to simply have been born in the same time as him – called him less than polite words, though the magnanimous admitted that despite the contentious nature of their plots, the music he composed, at least, was worthy of praise.

Nicola Fiume ignored them all. He didn't care about any of them, to be honest. If his operas had flopped, he would have merely shrugged and moved onto something else. Perhaps a court musician, perhaps a merchant. He'd succeeded as both, in different lives with different names before.

But controversy aside, he did have talent in composing music. Maybe it wasn't the kind of talent, that, at his time, would change and revolutionize the world as it was known, but he had talent enough to draw an audience every time, and so he continued to be the eccentric, well-funded composer. As Nicola Fiume he was a composer, and a composer wrote operas. Officially, he had a duty to repay his sponsors by continuing to write music. Even if said sponsors would be more than forgiving if he was to quit one day without any notice, he went through the motions of at least pretending to care.

Yawning, Nicola Fiume set aside the parchment filled with the latest batch of scribbles and notations and sleepily checked the illusion he wore. It was second nature now, to wear the face of the name he carried at the present, but he was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to illusions and he didn't want to break his streak of a few centuries by slipping up. The former Arcobalenos weren't a threat, but Sephira didn't want them killed and so, confrontation was best avoided.

Could the dead be killed? Could those that lit their empty husks with parodies of true Flames in vengeance even be considered alive?

Nicola Fiume considered the possibility of his next opera being one with an undead avenger, a man who thwarted death with the flames of vengeance to pursue those who wronged him, before tossing the idea aside. No need to draw their attention by mocking them. That would be rude.

Besides, Pandora was still being performed. He could think about a different plot at a later time. He already had a melody in mind, he just needed to organize it. It was similar to the aria of Pandora, but where Pandora was brassy and unrepentant, a fierce cry challenging the gods, this one was sweeter. Softer.

But there was a strength in the gentlest of things, sometimes, and Nicola Fiume idly wondered which story would best fit this melody. Definitely not one about an undead avenger.

A knock at his door broke his thoughts. "Yes?"

His wife and the prima donna of his stage poked her head in. "Lady Sephira's here, Nicola."

Nicola Fiume was an odd man, an eccentric composer, a man who lived by the word of his wife, but all of that, at the end of the day, was a mask he wore for convenience's sake.

Acheron left his chair and stretched his neck. Several cracks rang in the air. "I'll be right there."

* * *

Before she left Fauna, Euthalia pressed a small pouch into her hands.

"What's this?" Ninkilim undid the drawstrings. Inside was a handful of glittering powder, iridescent colors of the rainbow shining like gems as the light hit the fine dust.

"Powder from my wings," answered Sailor Cocoon even as Ninkilim realized what they were.

Because she needed to speak to Nabu's soul, not the human boy he had been reborn as.

"Did Aglaope use this, too?" Sailor Mermaid spoke with Triton when she went to the solar system where Sailor Moon lived. She was turned down by his reincarnation. Ninkilim was in a similar situation to her, except she hadn't yet had the chance to make her offer.

Euthalia nodded.

It came in handy for Ninkilim, too, when she came to Earth. The others had not exaggerated just how full of life the planet was. Any other day she might have been ranking anything and everything for hours on end, but not today.

Today she was on a mission.

"His name is Futa," said Sailor Saturn. She described what she had seen, the ranking, the gravity, the stars in the boy's eyes, and Sailor Chu's heart thrummed. It had to be Nabu – or, at least, Nabu's reincarnation.

As Sailor Cocoon, Euthalia had powers over the soul, partially. The powder from her wings, as beautiful as pixie dust and just as magical, as well as a little bit of dream magic would allow Ninkilim to get in touch with the part of the boy's soul that was Nabu. That had been Nabu and retained traces.

When Sailor Chu stepped into the dreamscape, she clapped a hand over her mouth. There, in the robes of Mercurian scholars, was a petite man with round ears on his head, just like hers.

"Nabu," she croaked out. His image was blurring, but that wasn't the dream magic's fault. No, her eyes were tearing up.

The Chunese scholar turned, and gaped. "Sailor Chu?"

Ninkilim darted over and tackled him in a hug. It nearly knocked him over, but he was saved when she regained her balance at the last minute.

* * *

To clear his head of any drowsiness, Acheron washed his face in cold water and cleaned himself up a little before heading to the parlor. By the time he arrived, he could hear Sephira and Teresa speaking.

"I still can't believe you're all grown up," Sephira was saying as he stepped into the room. "I remember when you were just starting singing lessons."

To anyone else, the words might have thrown them off – that the woman who looked a decade or so younger than the other was the one to say such a thing. Sephira looked as she had twenty years ago, eyes that looked far too wise in her young face as blue as the deep oceans of this planet. Her time in Asia had stepped past her, unable to leave its mark visibly upon the greatest of seers, the leader of this planet's guardians.

It was hardly something to bat an eye at for the three of them, and Teresa accepted it as what it was – an older, much older woman's way of reminiscing. She might have been in her thirties, but in front of Sephira she was reverted to a child once more, eager to be praised.

"I've made quite the name for myself," said Teresa, face lightly flushed at the smile on Sephira's face.

Acheron snorted lightly. "As a woman known for her modesty."

Teresa stuck her tongue out towards him. Being much more mature than she was, Acheron retaliated with the same.

Sephira clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to hold back her laughter. She failed.

"Married life didn't change you at all," she managed to note when she was no longer at risk of self-induced asphyxiation.

Acheron shrugged. If his first two marriages hadn't managed to do that, then there shouldn't have been any expectations for this one, unconventional as it was, to change him or Teresa.

He didn't marry for love, like some of the other guardians did when they wanted to. For one, he didn't experience romantic or sexual attraction to man or woman. He married for convenience, and for business, and his third marriage was no exception.

More a partnership, where they were each other's covers. Nicola Fiume had a wife that wasn't an illusion or constantly spelled in the head, Teresa Pasta had a husband that respected and supported her ambitions and lack of desire to continue on her bloodline, and no one in mortal society would ever look at them and cluck their tongues for being unmarried.

Just for lacking a child, though he supposed that he could always make an identity for Sephira to be their 'daughter' if she needed one.

What a messed-up family tree that would be. Still not as weird as the time Sephira and Peleus were 'married', with him as Sephira's 'father' and a granddaughter of Peleus acting as her grandsire's 'mother', but weird enough.

"I would hope not," said Teresa. "That's why I married Nicola."

And he had borne the teasing and half-joking threats of the others for being a 'cradle robber' for years. Acheron didn't need Sephira's Sight to know that if Tiresias was still alive he would have been subjected to even worse.

But as long as she was happy, he supposed.

After yet another risk of asphyxiation passed, Sephira wiped the tears from her eyes. "Daedalus?"

"Egypt, last we heard. He'll be here in a fortnight or so." There were tensions in that area, but true to his passion – bordering obsession, from the other side – towards his craft, Daedalus didn't even seem aware of what was going on around him. Judging by the last letter he sent, he was still under the impression that the rulers were from the same dynasty that had been in power the last time he was there – three centuries ago.

Typical.

Sephira gave an approving nod. "Just in time to watch Pandora in person. It's your best work so far, I think even he'll really enjoy it."

Acheron felt his ears burn. He wrote it for her, but it was an entirely different thing to have the person it was dedicated to casually mention that she saw it before he was ready. "You watched it?"

Teresa might have laughed at his embarrassment, except _she_ was Pandora in the eponymous opera and that meant Sephira saw her, too. She settled for flushing deeply.

"In my dreams," answered Sephira, and raised her hands, palms up, towards them to placate the words about to be shouted to her. "I couldn't resist."

"You have to watch it properly," Acheron insisted, only partially placated by her efforts. The best seats, with all the performers putting their souls into the opera. His words, unfortunately, were drowned out by the unplacated disbelief of Teresa.

Sephira had to swear three times that she would watch it, in person among the audience, and only share her impressions after watching the opera live.

* * *

The I Prescelti Sette – the chosen seven. The Arcobaleno – more than just a word for the rainbow.

Rumors of the cursed babies – people once so strong that they were cursed to become babies, proof of their identities being the pacifiers the colors of rainbows around their necks – haunted the mafia.

Rumors the eight of them had crafted, because they refused to stay hidden.

It was their way of defying the man in the iron hat, because they refused to be shamed. They were babies? So what?

Heads raised high, and not just to make up for their newly diminished heights, they proved why they were strong enough to have been chosen. Reborn had been ruthless before his curse, and he saw no reason to change that now.

He was a hitman – the best in the world. His size and shape didn't make a difference in who he was.

Death came in the form of a baby dressed in bespoke black, and the underworld learned to fear a baby who cutely mispronounced his signature 'Chaos'.

* * *

Before he was Futa de la Stella, Ranking Prince, before he was a human boy who lost his parents and was emerged into the world of crime and greed, before that he was Nabu, a scholar from Chu.

When Fauna was entering an alliance with the Silver Millennium, the planets decided to send representatives. Ambassadors, of sorts, because the best way to cement an alliance was by active communication .

Nabu had no idea what standards the other planets of Fauna followed, but in Chu, they chose the rational, logical method and ranked all the volunteers.

He might not have been the oldest, or the scholar with the most papers written in his name, but he was the best ranker out of all the volunteers, and he was therefore ranked the best choice to represent Chu in the Silver Millennium.

Mercury was fascinating. There, he met and ranked people he hadn't been able to back home, but also learned so much more. The world, the universe, was a big place, and the Silver Millennium was a center of activity coming and going. Mercury collected information from all those that came and went, and its scholars poured over the books of its libraries and debated for hours in universities to their heart's content.

He had made the best choice of his life, coming to the Silver Millennium.

* * *

"I sealed his Flames," Timoteo said during the debriefing.

It wasn't like the boy would have needed it, if he was going to live a normal, civilian life. In fact, it was probably a sure-fire way of keeping him safe from the Vindice.

But why?

The lines on Timoteo's face deepened with pain. "Primo was the first to start this."

After renouncing his title to his cousin Ricardo, Giotto had truly done all he could to cut ties. He moved to Japan, he changed his name, he married a local woman and had a son.

And he even sealed his own son's Flames.

"The Blood of Vongola was meant to be used in battle," said Timoteo. "Not times of peace."

It made sense. Hyper Intuition was to keep someone alive – to know who to trust, to know what actions to take.

And yet, for all that knowledge could be power, _because_ knowledge was power, it was a double-edged weapon that could just as easily hurt the wielder.

Reborn once knew someone with a power like that. Still knew and loved dearly that someone, and her daughter, and her granddaughter.

' _Sometimes I think I might go mad_ ,' Luce had whispered back then, before the curse, a rare moment of vulnerability she didn't cover with her usual smile. ' _And sometimes I think I already am_.'

He missed her every day.

"I sealed young Tsunayoshi-kun at his father's request." Timoteo paused, eyes clouded with a heavy emotion. "Iemitsu's father hadn't been sealed, and he ended up a paranoid man heavily relying on drugs and alcohol to blunt his out-of-control intuition."

Reborn raised an eyebrow. It was before Reborn was involved as actively as he was with the Vongola, before he was cursed, but he remembered Sawada Iemitsu became involved with the Vongola at a young age, around thirteen, when before he hadn't been a part of their world.

From what he learned later, Iemitsu's mother lived in the castle for a few years before passing away. There had been no mention of the father.

Remembering the boy with a desperate, almost wild light in his eyes fighting to keep himself swimming in the bloody shark-infested waters of the world he entered and how he eventually grew to be the man that came out of every impossible fight with bloodied fists and a dogged will to live, making a name for himself, Reborn could put the pieces together. No wonder Iemitsu requested that his son not be left unsealed.

But now the seal that had likely kept Iemitsu's boy from growing into a paranoid madman had to be broken, because where he was about to be pulled in, he would need every edge he could get.

"You want me to use the Dying Will Bullets," Reborn said. The Vongola were truly on their last leg, giving him the means to make a powerful and secret weapon of theirs.

Timoteo kept his eyes on Reborn and he mentally readjusted his assessment. It wasn't just desperation but also trust, that Reborn would raise Sawada Tsunayoshi as a man capable enough to survive the weight of the blood-stained crown.

Trust, for all that it was invisible and immaterial, was heavy.

Reborn, though, was the world's greatest hitman, and he got the job done.

* * *

"How're the Boxes working out?" was the first thing Daedalus demanded when he arrived.

Daedalus, like most of them that was still alive, hadn't really changed in appearance over the centuries. That is to say, he still had the wild light in his eyes that made those unused to him take an involuntary step back in fear that they faced a madman.

They wouldn't have been wrong with what their instincts screamed at them.

"Fine, like I told you in our dreams," Sephira replied patiently. It wasn't really curiosity that made him ask, it was merely affirmation.

Daedalus beamed and clapped his grandson on the back with a calloused but dextrous hand. "What'd I tell you, Geppetto?"

The young man flushed and mumbled something.

Acheron thought he was being too modest. What he created was truly something amazing. Already there were so many applications he could think of for the prototypes, and Geppetto wasn't going to be stopping there. No, he was too much like his grandfather. He would go on, expand on his designs.

The Boxes were going to be like the wheel, or the loom, or the printing press. Once it was introduced and integrated into daily life, there would be no going back. It would become fundamental to their way of living.

At least, it would be to the guardians. Until use of Flames became more commonplace, it wouldn't spread to a wider population.

A little mournful, Acheron cast his gaze towards Sephira and Daedalus. Helios could arrive at any moment, but even including his dream-walking brother and himself, there were only four of them, left from the original fourteen.

There had been six, when they were unable to sustain the balance on their own and needed the aid of others. The number shrank to five not even a century later when Orbona, unable to bear the guilt of watching her descendants take on a curse due to what she perceived as her inadequacy, slipped into slumber and never woke up again.

The stress of watching her friend die, and constantly facing the evils of humanity as they picked out candidates to become Arcobaleno when their descendants weren't enough in numbers, was what ended Euryale. Not monsters, not manifestations of dark magic and desires, but the invisible and heavy burden of their own exhausted, hurt hearts.

Well, that would come to an end now. Daedalus was finished his invention, the result of two centuries of single-minded dedication to make it so that the Arcobaleno were no longer needed to sustain the balance of the planet until Endymion was reborn.

No more of feeling the guilt as the curse of mortal lives bearing a burden they weren't born for forced the seven into infanthood. No more watching the descendants of their siblings now long-gone take on the burdens their ancestors did onto their shoulders. No more looking for the worst criminals with the strongest resolves and proof of their actions and manipulating them to step into the yoke connected to the weight of the world.

Sephira cut off both his thoughts and Daedalus in the midst of his rambles.

"The first thing we do when Helios arrives," she said sweetly with a smile, the warning that they would all listen to her _or else_. "Is go watch Pandora. Then we'll start the device. Is everyone good with that?"

Acheron ducked to hide his smile as no one dared to disagree.

* * *

The seven strongest.

Strength was diverse and could be measured and defined differently. That much Reborn could acknowledge, when he met the others the man in the checkered mask gathered.

But knowing was one thing and changing himself to fit the expectations and desires of others was another. It was pride, at the end of the day, and Reborn bowed to no one. Not truly.

And in that room, the others were similar. Having been superior for most of their lives, top experts in their fields, geniuses that never slacked, only strived –

Their prides were high, but it was not vainglory. It was an ego befitting their accomplishments, and their achievements were such that it was impossible to not have large prides.

The most obvious of the lot was himself, obviously, but also Verde. Viper and Lal Mirch might have liked to pretend they were above such things, but it was child's play to provoke them into revealing their true feelings. Skull was loud and brash, but easily suppressed.

Even the quiet ones with humility had the subtle but definitely present strength of the self-confident, those that accepted themselves, carved out their place in the world and would not be shaken.

Fon, the martial artist and champion, was one of those.

Luce was the other.

Second daughter of the now-retired Giglio Nero Sesta, Beatrice, and younger sister to the current Giglio Nero Settima Gloria, she was the heiress to an old family, a princess among commoners.

And ironically, the one with the most humility out of all of them despite that.

At the time, though Reborn hadn't realized it, he met the people who would change him from the lone wolf, freelancer hitman to, well, whatever he was now. An assassin associated with the Vongola. Someone who sought to keep the peace of the underworld for the sake of others.

Someone who, though he was no hero, would never be a hero, tried to keep another safe.

In his own way.

* * *

As vast and beautiful as the libraries of Mercury were, there was a redaction of information.

Nabu closed yet another tome, the satisfaction of finishing a book offset by the lack of a new discovery. This one, too, had only the briefest section on certain planets.

Every planet had a sailor soldier. That was an established fact. No sailor soldier meant either one wasn't born or awakened yet, which could be fixed in the future, or that the planet was dead and had no future, in which case it would be blaringly obvious.

Sailor Pluto's existence was forbidden to speak of. That meant, if she existed, she was a criminal, or her duties were so important that it was confidential. Nabu's rankings – done privately, because he curious, not stupid – told him it was likely the latter. On the two separate occasions he had seen Plutonians, one had been for a funeral, and a Plutonian priest had carried out the rites, draped in black robes with a garnet rod in hand.

The other had been in a special lecture on magic related to space and time, on making portals between two prepared locations. A professor from Pluto who was an expert on the subject had come to speak, and the lecture halls had been filled with engineers.

Both experiences suggested to Nabu that they weren't shunned, just very private people by nature or culture, much like how the people of Chu were intuitively curious and yearned to learn.

Sailor Saturn, on the other hand, now that was a different story. Saturnians interacted with other planets only for the sake of buying and selling goods, meaning that the only Saturnians that ever came to Mercury were the merchants. Their primary exports were soil and Saturnian amethysts, the latter of which were excellent catalysts for magic, especially the illusory kind.

But the Saturnians were regarded with what appeared to be fear, or distaste. There was no warmth in the interactions, no respect stemming from admiration, no personal connection. Business, almost clinical transactions, and that was it.

The Saturnians themselves didn't seem to care, as if this was just the natural way of things.

"It's because of a prophecy," one merchant told him, when he asked, unable to bear the curiosity at last. He smirked lazily at Nabu's stunned look. "One given when our princess was born – that when she died, she would take all the Silver Millennium with her. She was sealed away after birth, and she paid for our liberty with hers."

What they chose to do with the liberty?

The merchant curled his lips in contempt. "Not interact with these philistines," he nodded to the general direction of Mercury's university, where books were stored, spells were written, and debates were carried out. The height of Mercury's culture, and by extent the height of the Silver Millennium's accomplishments, one of them, and the merchant reduced them all with a single word to cultureless fools. "Any more than we have to."

And, well, that would do it, Nabu supposed.

He couldn't rank anything about the sailor soldiers of the Silver Millennium. For one, he hadn't met any of them, and proximity and information made rankings accurate.

For another, they were far stronger than he was. Directly ranking Sailor Chu was difficult, even back when he had her name and proximity. He wasn't going to be able to rank sailor soldiers here.

And that meant there was a burning question, like an itch that just couldn't be soothed, and it nearly drove him insane.

Terra. What was up with Terra?

The consensus among the residents of the Silver Millennium seemed to be that Terra was a backwards, backwater planet, the country bumpkin, the black sheep, the weird one they left out for everyone's sake. Contact with the planet was forbidden, which severely limited the up-to-date information from Terra, but more than that, there was a culture of disinterest towards them. An ingrained sense of superiority towards what, when he thought about it very carefully, they knew very little about. Lots of lives, short-lived but so numerous, and no interest!

What. A. Crying. Shame.

All he found about them were some personal records, primary sources like journals from times before the law forbidding contact was passed, and even then, the records made Terrans out to be foolish and primitive.

'They worship even an average citizen of the Silver Millennium as a god', he read in one notable journal, donated from a now-deceased soldier from Jupiter. 'The most basic of magics make them tremble in fear, and they are easily impressed by the smallest things.'

The oldest source referencing Terra Nabu could find was, ironically, a vague story about the beginning of the Silver Millennium. It was a story 'out of fashion', written almost like a fairy tale, and the footnotes suggested it wasn't reliable, but it was also the oldest source he had.

There, a king of a court married a young, beautiful and powerful queen. In the wedding, all those of the court brought gifts to bless their union. The scholar gave tomes holding much wisdom. The beauty offered jewelry unparalleled in their intricacy and worth. The warrior laid down enchanted flames for her use. The protector brought blessed lumber.

The reaper gifted solemn silence. The sky flier handed her the sacred winds. The wave dancer contributed the tides of the ocean. And the watcher presented a stone as beautiful and red as the fruits of the underworld.

When it was the seer's turn, she stepped forth, and bequeathed the queen a castle, for the queen needed a place of abode. In doing so the seer gave the queen the greatest gift, for she had only one of such a marvellous castle in a critical location, and yet she gifted it freely.

The queen was overjoyed, and offered her own gift, to make up for what the seer lacked.

To everyone's shock, however, the seer refused the gift. The queen offered twice more, but was unable to convince the seer to change her mind.

After the third time she was offered, the seer, with a final refusal, left the wedding before the king and queen without regard for how rude her actions were. Out of the kindness of their hearts the king and queen did not punish her insolence, but to all the court it was clear the seer's hubris, and it was seen with disapproving eyes.

When the vows were sworn to the queen for a beautiful, everlasting kingdom of silver, the seer was not there, secluded in her home, and for her arrogance she paid the price.

Nabu could roughly fit together which of the planets were which, based on the gifts that were given or the descriptions. He could also guess _who_ the seer was, based on what she had given the queen.

The Silver Millennium's silver palace, after all, was on the only moon of Terra, the planet where all contact was banned.

Not that this story made Terra out in a positive light, or seemed to lack bias, but Nabu found it interesting how the seer was in the position of Terra.

The _seer_. Those who saw more than the average person. Even rankers weren't seers, those with the ability to catch glimpses of the future, or something beyond, something _more_. It was a rare talent, even in the Silver Millennium, and very few could outright claim such a title, if at all. From how the other planets were described, it was almost like a stereotype of what each planet represented.

Seer? Not a word used to describe someone fitting the description of a backwards, backwater country bumpkin.

Based on the treatments of the two planets in somewhat similar positions to Terra – Pluto and Saturn – Nabu could try the logical approach and form a few hypothesises.

Theory one. Terra is an outcast of the Silver Millennium due to not having a sailor soldier.

Rebuttal. All planets with life had a sailor soldier, and Terra, though he had never been, was obviously just teeming with life, even from this distance. There was a sailor there, somewhere, somehow.

In addition, by that logic, Pluto should also have been made an outcast, for the possibility of not having a sailor soldier. Whether she existed or not, if there wasn't even a mention of her, it was very likely there was a secrecy to her. Further digging, his instincts warned him, might be detrimental to his survival. He would lay aside the point for now.

Theory two. Terra's sailor soldier is a danger to the Silver Millennium, similar to Sailor Saturn, or at least the princess presumed to be Sailor Saturn. In the old story, the seer had rejected the gifts of the queen thrice, and not sworn a vow. A vow not given implied that the seer could attack the queen, because she hadn't sworn her loyalty.

Rebuttal. The story lacked details on too many things to provide solid ground for the hypothesis. In addition, Saturn's princess was sealed away because her existence was a threat. Saturn itself was not sealed off, and Saturnians were free to come and go in the Silver Millennium. They were a part of the Silver Millennium. If Terra was excluded from the Silver Millennium for being a 'threat', then it implied that all of Terra, and Terrans, were a threat. Sources suggested that Terrans were 'inferior' to residents of the Silver Millennium, in strength, lifespan and other advantages. Gods among men mean a military advantage. What threat could Terrans pose the Silver Millennium, enough to keep the entire planet out of the Silver Millennium?

Counter rebuttal. It was not improbably for her rudeness to be the reason for exile, banishment, imprisonment or some other punishment which would keep the sailor soldier of Terra out of the picture.

Rebuttal to the counter rebuttal. But punishing all the planet, and all its population for the actions of one person in the past?

Counter rebuttal. The tale might have only one person but it's possible it was told as one, to represent all of Terra. But yes, keeping the entire planet out for that reason is suspicious and doesn't hold ground, not with the inclusive, kind nature of Queen Serenity. It could be a side of her not known, but that goes into the wild realms of conspiracy, painting her as a two-faced hypocrite.

Theory three. Terra is excluded for its own good. Adults do not include children in serious talks or decisions. Children do not fundamentally understand some of the concepts that adults must be responsible for, have not had the time to develop a knowledge base for dealing with it yet. Terrans are short-lived and underdeveloped. It is possible that the Silver Millennium was a negative influence on Terrans, threatening to extinguish their native culture, and the measure of God's Law was taken to keep them safe from being swallowed.

Rebuttal. A fair point, but taking into account the attitudes of the residents of the Silver Millennium even now, it's hard to argue they would be fighting for the sake of _preserving_ their culture. They look upon Terrans as primitive people.

Counter rebuttal. Queen Serenity might have realized this very fact about her people and taken measure to keep Terra safe from Silver Millennium influences. She did, after all, pass the law.

Without enough information, he was working on a puzzle missing its pieces. It was impossible to get the full picture, and perhaps he never would be able to.

Would that stop Nabu? Absolutely not.

What a mystery. What a delightful side project he had going on.

But a side project was all it could be, because being the only ranker in Mercury, in the entire Silver Millennium, meant Nabu was _busy_. He loved his job, but it left him with little spare time to track down any and all leads on the few information he had of Terra. It was like pulling teeth, and honestly the connections he made while ranking was the only reason he was able to get access to some of these sources.

And he had reached the limits, now. There were no more sources Nabu could chase down, because they didn't exist, or they were locked up and far out of his level of clearance. The only way he could get more information was if the law banning contact with Terra was lifted, and he went down there to find out more from their perspective.

Nabu leaned back, pulling the lids over his sore, tired eyes to grant them deeply needed reprieve. Maybe one day, he could see Terra and rank there.

It was unlikely, but dream big, right?

* * *

When Kyoko graduated elementary, she had been a little scared. Sure, she would be attending the same school as her older brother, but she was also closer to adulthood.

She wasn't sure if she was ready, to be an adult. She wasn't her brother, so intense and extreme. She wasn't Hana, confident in everything she did and mature for her age.

She wasn't Tsuna, who was far braver than what anyone who didn't know him thought.

When the subject came up, Kyoko paused. "What I want to be when I grow up?"

An insect buzzed over their heads, loud and obnoxious. The winds were cooling. Autumn was coming, slowly driving out the heat of the summer, and soon winter would have arrived. Then it would be spring's turn, and summer, and the cycle would continue on, with Kyoko another year older, maybe another year wiser.

She hoped so. She didn't feel very wise, most of the time.

"A ballerina," she repeated her default answers to the common question. "Or a policewoman."

It wasn't Hana's first-time hearing this, but Haru and Hotaru looked so interested at her answer that Kyoko felt guilty, for not being able to give them a better reply. The ballerina was a default answer, because she had once seen Swan Lake when she was six and she had loved the way the dancers jumped in the air. The policewoman was because she wanted to help people and one time, when her brother got lost, a policewoman had helped him come back home.

"What about you?" Kyoko asked, to change the subject and not dwell on the fact that she was so unsure about her own life.

"I want to be a fashion designer! The best in Japan!" Haru exclaimed, and with eyes alit, she turned to Kyoko. "I'll make your clothes if you ever go on stage, too!"

Kyoko smiled, and didn't tell Haru that she didn't think she would be able to be a ballerina. She didn't do ballet, and it was probably too late to start. She didn't feel the same passion that Haru was displaying now, when she said those were her dreams.

The policewoman was more likely, if only because Kyoko did really want to help people. Even if her brother was worried that might be too dangerous for her.

But that was what she liked about Haru, and Tsuna. They didn't let limitations stop them and gave Kyoko courage just by being themselves. Just like Hana and her brother.

As for Hotaru . . . .

The dark-haired girl contemplated it with a surprising amount of thought.

"An adult, I guess?" she answered at last, a wistful smile on her face.

"Well," said Hana drily. "The good news is – that's a goal easy enough to achieve with some time and living."

Hotaru laughed. "I guess so. I want to be a nurse. Because I want to help people live lives in less pain, and my mother was a nurse."

Hotaru was more like Hana, in the sense that every action she took, she did with a sure confidence, a quiet strength. But she, like Haru, looked very certain of what she wanted.

Kyoko envied them, for that certainty.

* * *

The theory was simple, because sometimes it was the simple solution that was best.

"Overly complicating things is a rookie mistake," said Daedalus to the room, and Geppetto nodded next to him, carefully focused on his grandfather's words. Over in the corner, Acheron noticed Audra make an effort to pay attention despite her lack of interest in the topic. Her son, so unlike his mother or his ancestor Peleus, simply leaned back and closed his eyes to take a nap. "And despite the sheer scale of things involved, the mechanism itself is pretty simple behind the stones."

The stones kept the balance of the world, but because they were empty of what had originally filled them, back when the seven were one, Flames needed to be provided to them.

He and his family had supported the stones on their own, and for a while it was enough. They had their primary, preferred Flames – the ones that had first awakened with the fall of the Golden Kingdom – but they also had secondary Flames and, in the end, it was the number of people that mattered. Even when there were only seven of them left outside Elysion, they could still bear it.

Sephira was always the orange Flame, because Cybele was long gone, and no one had secondary orange Flames. Those were rare, whether among their own and among humans. He was usually the indigo Flames because those were his primary ones, but when Peitho died he filled the red while Helios left Elysion to hold up the indigo stone. Orbona was yellow, Daedalus was green, Euryale was blue, and Scylla, though green, was the most versatile of them all, and could fill any role except orange with the greatest ease.

But when there were only five of them, not including Helios, it wasn't enough. One thousand years, and the burden was too great for them to carry on their own.

In the end it came down to two things – the type of Flame, and different sources. One person couldn't sustain more than one stone at a time, no matter that the seven had once been one.

And thus, the Arcobaleno system was started. Helios returned to Elysion as he should, and the first two generations were their descendants, those that inherited the Flames but not the longevity.

None of them ever had both. It was either an expanded lifespan, aging at a much slower rate than normal humans, or a massive amount of Flames – again, relative to normal humans. A watered down, half-version of their ancestors. Just another thing that set the original guardians apart from the rest of the world.

"Which means as long as we have a stable source," Daedalus concluded, gesturing to the containers. Something that could store Flames without losing their energy. Geppetto, who was born during the process, had grown up watching his grandfather and father work on it, and he proved his heritage by making his own versions. "We could make do."

He held his arm out dramatically. Most of the room obliged and clapped, except for himself and the one brave soul napping in the corner through all this. Acheron didn't if only because he lacked the desire to follow the majority's example, but Teresa nudged his ribs with the sharp point of her elbow and made him bow his head to the tyranny of the masses, leaving the napping Scirocco the only defiant against the majority's sway.

Simply fill the Boxes holding the stones with Flames periodically. The stones would 'feed' on the Flames provided, as long as it was the right color, and it could be filled by them as needed. Theoretically, Sephira herself, capable of wielding all seven colors of Flames to a certain degree, could fill and sustain it herself.

Sephira couldn't See the results, not when it was focused on the stones, not when she wasn't wielding them, but she could try, and she was optimistic about the feeling she got.

Acheron would have preferred something a little more concrete, but as he poured in a massive amount of indigo Flames into the colored Box, he decided to hope.

* * *

Succession was a complicated thing when power was involved.

For example – if the first head of a family left the position to his cousin, but had a son, and several generations later his descendant came back to rejoin the family while the current head had sons of his own, what did that mean to the line of succession? Who had the greater claim? The line that had been the dons ever since? Or – the direct descendent of the legendary Primo?

In whatever field, it was always the first that was significant, remembered.

Even if the inheritors of the right blood themselves might not have been interested, power was never that simple. Sometimes it was the push of others that made a rebellion, a claim those hungry for power took as their own and brandished like a flag to start conflict. Sometimes power was like a push, and unwilling or not, in the game you could fight, or you could die.

Due to oaths he'd taken, forfeiting his right to become the boss of the Vongola when he first joined the family, as well as the opposition of the Vongola's underbosses, Iemitsu himself couldn't be the heir. Back then, those oaths had served to keep the peace in the Vongola and saved Iemitsu's life. Now, it forced him to make his son take the throne built on blood and crime, the very life he had wanted Tsuna to be safe from.

Iemitsu would have fought to be the boss himself, breaking his oaths if necessary just to keep his son safe and hidden, but someone leaked information that he had a son and there was a faction pushing for Iemitsu's son to be found and made the heir, claiming he had a greater right to the Vongola's throne than his father.

They couldn't have made it clearer that they wanted a puppet, and it was no longer an option for Iemitsu to take all the fire. His son was going to be dragged in, whether he liked it or not, and the only differences they could make would be in how prepared he was.

Reborn's job was to make sure Tsuna didn't become a puppet, but instead a competent boss of his own. To do that, Tsuna needed guardians he could trust.

If necessary, Iemitsu was willing to send members of CEDEF to serve as Tsuna's guardians. Luckily, Tsuna, for all that he lacked confidence in himself, was truly someone who could become a boss. Beyond his ordinary appearance and actions there was an inner strength, tougher than steel, brighter than a diamond.

He had the potential to become a charismatic, kind leader, like Vongola Primo. That, he could work with. With his training Reborn took the measure of slow exposure, getting him used to action, unpredictable events, social interactions and challenges. The Dying Will Bullet was to serve more than just the purpose of breaking the seal. That had been accomplished the first time Tsuna was shot.

First, Tsuna would grow used to going into Dying Will Mode. The feeling of fighting the greatest force in the universe, the god that would not be stopped. The feeling of looking at death and saying, 'not today'. He would build up the resolve to live – something he would need, in a world that would threaten his life.

Second, Tsuna would gain confidence in his self. Instead of continuing the negative feedback loop of telling himself he couldn't do it and then failing, creating his own self-fulfilling prophecy, he would see for himself how he was able to get out of situations he labelled impossible. The Dying Will Bullet might have been the one to push him over the edge of his limitations, but that meant it was all him. It was his potential that made it possible for him to accomplish what he did. It was fine if he failed – as long as he stood back up and tried again until he succeeded. Until he learned to not give up.

Finally, he would eventually be able to harness his Dying Will, use it like his father, and the previous bosses of the Vongola did. He would be able to use the very resolve that made the Vongola the powerful player it was today, the resolve he himself had if he could only see it for himself.

Already, with just the minor things he put Tsuna through, Tsuna had drawn some very impressive people to him.

Gokudera Hayato. Reborn might have been the one to call him to Japan from Italy, but he was a distrustful lone wolf type, raising his hackles at the world. Tsuna won his trust and loyalty easily without even meaning to, giving the boy a sense of belonging he hadn't had before. With Gokudera loyal to him, Tsuna gained connections to Shamal and Bianchi as well. That wouldn't be enough to earn him their loyalty, not yet, but at the very least, the two freelancer hitmen with considerable talent wouldn't be coming after him, and at the rate he was going, Tsuna would be able to make his own connections with a man who was talented as a dealer of both death and life, and a cunning folk with a gift for poisoning.

Yamamoto Takeshi. Though he didn't seem aware of it, his father had once been a famous hitman in his own right, an inheritor of a destructive sword style meant for murder. He still had the mindset of a civilian, a noble effort on the part of his father, but his skills were too great to be set aside, and Yamamoto was the type to give his all to someone in his boundaries. Tsuna was well within those boundaries. If he was going to die for baseball, then Reborn was sure as hell going to do his best to not let all that talent go to waste and divert it towards protecting Tsuna.

Sasagawa Ryohei. A diamond uncut, one in a million – though that could really apply to a few others in this supposedly ordinary town. A boy that loved to fight, but not for the sake of violence. He learned better through action than words or books, and he had a good heart. That simple and rough but undeniably kind personality made him close to Tsuna, despite his 'extreme' ways. Like recognized like.

Hibari Kyoya. Hibari Saya might have been up to something, but Hibari Kyoya, again, had too much potential to be ignored. He would be an unconventional type of guardian, but Tsuna was too unconventional a case to call into doubt the others. Unconventional was the way that would let Tsuna survive. If Hibari Kyoya could become an ally, it would help Tsuna greatly.

Those were just the ones drawn to him that could fight.

Reborn was still on the fence with Lambo. The Ten Year Bazooka was unpredictable, and Iemitsu's report – that Lambo from ten years later had claimed to be the Lightning Guardian, and proven his resolve to be Tsuna's guardian – was fine, but at the same time, he was a kid. A younger kid than all the other kids Reborn had to deal with right now.

And don't even get him started on finding a Mist Guardian. Kyoko had Mist Flames, and Haru Lightning, the two fields where Reborn was most hesitant on, and it was almost serendipitous, except in a bad way. He was on the fence with the girls, too. They might have had the right Flames, but they weren't fighters. Their gifts were in other areas, but first and foremost, Reborn had to look at their ability to fight. They had to exceed, be strong, but more than that they had to survive, and protect.

He would have preferred for Tsuna to have a full set, give him all the protections the traditions they could afford to give him, but he wasn't comfortable with pushing civilian girls into a life like that. As members of the family, sure, but not as guardians. Not as the people who had targets painted on them, the ones that would bear the brunt of attacks.

Others on the list. I-Pin. Reborn couldn't directly pull her into the Vongola because of Fon's wishes, but he could encourage her to bond with the Sawada family, and grow a vested interest in their safety and wellbeing. If she chose to join the Vongola as a fighter, Fon would respect her choice.

The best part of this plan was that he didn't even have to do anything. As expected of the woman that made the Vongola's Young Lion risk everything out of love, Sawada Nana gave not just I-Pin, but also Futa, Lambo and even Bianchi a sense of home. Tsuna, too, established a rapport with the children and built a bond with them. He was, for all his protests, remarkably good at babysitting, and at drawing in remarkable people.

Tomoe Hotaru, the last one on the list. A good friend, of Miura Haru and Yamamoto Takeshi and now Tsuna, but also someone that could be a valuable ally. She didn't have connections to the underworld, but her parents could provide some influence and power of their own, and as a person herself she was quite a smart girl, with a hidden fierceness in defending her friends.

Not a guardian candidate, again, because of her physical frailty, but she would make a good ally. A medical professional that could be trusted was valuable.

Every day, through some ridiculous excuse or another, Reborn put Tsuna through training, pushing his body into fitness. Every day, Reborn exposed Tsuna to a new experience. Chaos. Violence. Unfairness. Conflict.

He would not consider himself a kind teacher, but he was a good and efficient one. And though he was the home tutor right now, Reborn was and always would be a hitman – the world's greatest hitman.

And his current mission was to murder the civilian Sawada Tsunayoshi so the Vongola Decimo could come to be.

Tsuna tried to run, and Reborn didn't permit it. He backed Tsuna into a corner – he became the corner – and forced him to confront his problems, and to solve them. It was fine to have help from others. Being able to stand on his own was important, but right now the greater priority was for Tsuna to realize that he could do it.

Reborn built him up so that one day he could survive and stand even in a world where his life would always be in danger.

* * *

Hope betrayed him.

One moment, they were celebrating, goblets raised in a toast, and the next, wine and blood spilled as Sephira toppled, red liquid staining her clothes.

One didn't live as long as they did – fighting monsters, living for generations, loving those that would inevitably die – without gaining knowledge of injuries or illness.

Acheron reached out to stabilize Sephira, but almost immediately realized that his efforts were as effective as putting a hand to a waterfall.

Daedalus realized the same, and he contributed by inserting green, blue and yellow Flames into the device one at a time, feeding the greedy stones that had turned on their leader.

"Elysion," said Helios, urgent at the sight of Sephira unconscious and stained with wine and her own blood but forcing himself to remain calm and choose the best course of action available to them. "We should take her to Elysion."

Acheron let Helios take her. Elysion would help her heal, but he needed to address the root of the problem. He went to the device, and poured out indigo, purple and red Flames.

It wasn't perfect, but it would help while they planned.

"It's a prototype," said Acheron, if only to break the silence. Teresa, he noticed, was cleaning up the spilled wine and blood because to do nothing would be even more torturous. Geppetto was shaken, so pale that Acheron spared a part of his numb thoughts to worry that there might be a second person to collapse today. "Failures are expected – they're the mother of success."

The words felt empty even to him. Failure was to be expected, but when the cost was so great, would the success be worth it?

He wasn't Daedalus, he didn't breathe innovation and his creativity was geared towards illusions, not inventions, but he knew enough to deduce what had happened.

"If you make multiple Boxes to store the Flames instead of just one large source," he said, detached and calm because the alternative was to panic. "If they release periodically, if there's a time-delay of sorts . . . It should be – better."

The stones, as pacifiers around the necks of the chosen, sapped the lives of the sacrifices. Humans were living beings, and by their very nature they subconsciously held back, provided their own limitations unless put under extenuating circumstances.

In other words, the Flames they provided the stones were steady. Slowly released as the chosen sacrifices lived. The pacifiers were parasitic and fed off the Flames of the host while the host was alive.

Boxes, for all that they were ingenious, could not control the contents they bore and did not have the innate desire to live. They did not subconsciously fight the curse and create a controlled outflow like the Arcobaleno did. The stones, greedy things they were, sucked up all the stored Flames immediately and couldn't have the manners to wait until the next load.

They turned to their former carrier and latched onto her.

It was all so obvious in hindsight.

Daedalus didn't say anything. He looked like he had aged several decades in the short span of time since Sephira collapsed, and Acheron didn't blame him. He felt the same.

He ran through the list of people he had kept track of – the candidates for the seven that would become Arcobaleno. The usual process took around six months, to subtly layer deceptive spells to nudge them into agreeing to take on the yoke.

Would they even have six months? And were the candidates within reach? There was an orange Flame nearby, thankfully, but the best blue was in Russia, and the red in Britain. The indigo was in prison, could probably be offered freedom in exchange for agreeing to a 'favor'. The green he kept a tab on was killed in a fight two years back, and the purple . . .

Acheron felt a headache, and not just from the Flames he was exerting, one different color at a time.

* * *

The mirror shone, and Mamoru inserted a bit of his magic into it in reply.

A moment later, Usagi came through. Bless Setsuna and her miraculous existence.

"I missed you," she whispered, wrapping an arm around his neck. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she lightly rapped her knuckles on his chest, above his heart. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" he asked.

Usagi smiled impishly. "I'm here to find the legendary thief, Tuxedo Mask. He stole my heart."

"Objections," he answered, even as the corners of his lips lifted upwards. He couldn't have stopped them from rising towards the sky if he tried. "Tuxedo Mask had his heart stolen, as well."

Usagi giggled, and his heart lightened as he was reminded that no matter what, he always had her love.

It was difficult work, being with Doctors Beyond Boundaries. The language wasn't the problem – though he did cheat a little, with magic – but the fact that the organization existed meant there were problems, and he saw them firsthand.

The equipment was older, more used. The hospital was smaller. The people had injuries or complications that were rare in Japan.

The patients that came were civilians, caught up in the messy remains of a war. Children who were afraid, parents who were worried, families that were torn apart. Refugees, trembling in fear.

This was part of this world, the part he hadn't known about. The part that made him realize just how fortunate he was in so many ways.

Was this what Acheron wanted to teach him?

"Sometimes I wonder," he admitted. "What we did in the other timeline."

The one Chibi-Usa came from. They knew that was a parallel time now, because theirs had been changed in course by the visit of their daughter from the future, and the invasion of the Black Moon Clan.

Setsuna had only partial memories of Sailor Pluto from that timeline – memories sent by the revived Sailor Pluto of Chibi-Usa's time. But what they knew was enough to draw up a hypothesis, one that made his heart ache with sorrow for Chibi-Usa's timeline.

The most damning of all the evidences was that Chibi-Usa did not know Sailors Saturn, Uranus and Neptune, not until she came to their time.

In the timeline where Chibi-Usa had come from, the outers must have succeeded in killing Hotaru. Then, when Pharaoh 90 and the Death Busters invaded, they would have given their everything to fight the enemy.

Even their lives.

Mamoru still remembered Sailor Saturn, swinging the Silence Glaive, and the sheer power that had torn Pharaoh 90 from merging with the Earth.

Usagi was said to have become queen at the age of twenty-two, after saving the world and giving birth to Chibi-Usa. Nine hundred years, of the Earth under the reign of Neo-Queen Serenity and King Endymion, and Crystal Tokyo before those of Nemesis sought to rewrite history.

And they had, though not in the way they planned. But how different would things have gone, without the soldiers of Saturn, Uranus and Neptune?

Only a few things were certain – Usagi hadn't become Neo-Queen Serenity yet. Chibi-Usa hadn't been born yet – and perhaps she never would, because the daughter from the future they met wouldn't be the same one as the child they would have, someday.

It wasn't that Mamoru wished to exchange the lives of Hotaru, Haruka and Michiru, and Setsuna's freedom for everything to go as it had in Chibi-Usa's time. That wasn't it at all, and not just because it was not his to say who lived and who died, certainly not the lives of his allies.

No, it was because the fault was his, for not being better.

The war had ended over a year ago, in this country, but the official end of the war didn't mean the end of the violence that remained. Armed groups fought for control of resources, and people were killed or forced out of their homes.

It was a primal but human violence and darkness that made Mamoru wish he was rather fighting Nehellenia again. That, at least, had a simple answer – defeat the evil queen, sealed away thousands of years ago, and the darkness she had cast over the hearts of people would disappear, too.

Here, the evil was in the chaos, the darkness of the hearts of those that extinguished the lights of others, and it was innate, nurtured by greed and violence and ugly desires and the circumstances of a perpetuating cycle. The stories he heard, of children young as three years old slaughtered with machetes, and the haunted eyes of the survivors of gang rapes. The exhausted terror the refugees who had to flee from their villages, because the word 'home' had lost the meaning of safety. The mutilations he treated, the gunshot wounds he operated on, the starved faces he saw.

A part of Mamoru just wanted to release the power of the Golden Crystal and damn the consequences it would have on him.

But before coming, he and the others had been told something that made him pause.

"Remember," the supervisor had told them, a woman from Europe in her fifties. Her eyes were sharp and strong, like steel, and her greying hair was pulled back in a strict bun. She wore the vest over a pair of worn jeans and a cheap t-shirt, but none of that could take away the air of authority she exuded. "Don't think of yourselves as saviours."

Don't impress your values upon others. Don't judge. Don't presume. Offer aid, but remember –

"Their lives are not yours. You do not and will not live their lives for them."

In the end every person had to stand for their own and live their own lives. It wasn't a problem that would be solved by Doctors Beyond Boundaries, or outsiders, providing every necessary resource.

Self-sustainability. It was about providing what was necessary for them to be able to live their lives, even after outsiders left.

"Don't think that we know better," she warned them. "Don't get your heads inflated with a sense of superiority. Regardless of our differences, we are all, at the end of the day, just fellow human beings. Treat them with the respect you believe you yourself would deserve and respect their agency."

And she was right, too.

Mamoru learned, and he gave what he could. He treated, he taught, and he helped, and he saw them as fellow people.

He saw the fear and the sadness, the exhaustion and despair – but he saw, buried under it, the hope. The desire to live. The resolve to go on, no matter what.

It was the light in the dark, a star in the night sky – and it was beautiful.

And even as the sorrow hurt him, the awe took his breath away.

Unknown to Mamoru, he became one step closer to understanding what Acheron meant by 'resolve'.

* * *

It was a paradoxical trap. For Sephira to be able to recover enough to wake up, the world's balance needed to stop relying on her so much. Something needed to take the load off her, be the Hercules easing the weight of the heavens off the shoulders of Atlas to let the Titan go and pick the three golden apples he needed.

The best substitute, of course, would be the Arcobaleno. And yet, two key components of the seven – the purple and green Flames – were missing. Staking their hopes on brilliant Daedalus and his invention, he had grown lax in keeping obsessive track of possible candidates like he usually did.

And to find candidates who could fill the role, they needed their seer. The same seer that was unconscious and clinging to the fragile status quo with the help of Elysion.

"You're wrong," corrected Teresa, interrupting him. He hadn't really been talking to her, mostly mumbling things out loud in the hopes that by organizing his thoughts in the most tangible way he could – without writing them or using illusions, both of which would take his attention away from feeding the stones his Flames – he could discover the miracle that would break this paradox.

Acheron glanced up from the device, and a drop of sweat narrowly missed entering his eye at the movement. This was first aid to a grievous wound that he and Daedalus were providing. They lacked the orange Flame, that damningly rare color. Had it been anyone but Sephira who was in critical condition, things wouldn't be this bad. The orange harmonized all the different others, served as the bridge to connect them.

Unity in diversity, harmony in chaos. The contradictions of life.

"What?"

"About missing the green and purple Flames."

He was tired. The wine's influence had long since been banished by the moment of terror and the exertion he was going through, providing the Flames, but it still took his brain a bit of time to understand her meaning.

When he did, though, he spoke immediately. "No."

"You don't own me, Nicola," Teresa said, the words tired instead of filled with her usual fire. "You can't tell me what to do, unless it's your opera, and even then, that's debateable."

Acheron wasn't in the mood to joke. "Teresa, no."

"We don't have time." She shrugged, like it wasn't her life being damned she spoke of. "I talked with Scirocco already, he's willing to do it."

Of course she did, she was a woman of action. He glared, patience too short to do anything else. "Absolutely not."

"You still don't own me," Teresa reminded him, and there was the spark of the prima donna that she was in her eyes. The actress, who donned a different skin on each stage and yet never failed to dominate the stage, the proud woman full of fire and resolve whose passion and ambition fueled her. "And you swore in the wedding vows that you would always respect my autonomy."

Acheron could be cruel while still respecting her agency. He could remind her that she had never wanted to have children after she learned and understood why her father, an infant before she was born, never showed himself to her. He could remind her that an important reason for why she chose to marry him was because she wanted to not have future progeny and give them the same burdensome yoke she was now pushing her head into, foolish cattle walking towards the slaughterhouse.

Teresa, however, was the one who would have thought of all that – and she still had taken action, knowing the consequences that would fall on her. She was faster. "We both know it takes time to find and choose those with strong enough Flames, let alone the right kind. Why bother when you have two people with the right kind and amount right now?"

As an illusionist, he liked to distort the truth. Having it laid out for him so baldly did little to uplift his mood.

"I might not be my ancestor," Teresa continued. "But call it a gut feeling, I think the sooner we make the Arcobaleno, the sooner Lady Sephira can wake up with less lasting damage."

With her mother dead in childbirth and father an Arcobaleno, Teresa was raised mostly by Sephira. His sister might have left shortly after Teresa proposed to him to return to walking the world, but it didn't change the fact that Sephira was dear to her.

Sephira was dear to all of them. And between Teresa and Sephira, Acheron would always choose Sephira.

That didn't mean that the decision wasn't hard, though.

"Acheron," Teresa said while he wavered, and that was the final nail in the coffin. She had never called him that, not after they were married. It was a divorce without papers or law or prior consent involved, but he knew that with that one word, she had ended their marriage then and there.

His prima donna commanded him, as regal as the queen she had played in the past, and as self-sacrificial as the last role she would play. It was Pandora, standing before him, off the stage and out of his opera in the flesh, taking on the burden of the world for the sake of the masses, and for those she loved.

He never should have written such a role with her in mind. He should have written happier things, should have commemorated not sacrifices, but joys.

Teresa didn't let him wallow in his regrets for long. "Get your priorities straight."

Venting his frustrations, he exerted a larger amount of Flames, and withdrew his hand. Mist shrouded him, and when he emerged, he was hidden in black and white, a mask over his face.

"I'll be back in three days," he said, his voice changed to that of the checkered man. "Tell Scirocco, and," he paused, unable to let his usually silver tongue find a way to phrase 'get ready to die' better. There really was no way to disguise it, not to someone who knew the truth of what she was signing up for.

Teresa didn't need to be told. His former wife nodded. "Get going. If you're late, I'll never forgive you."

She didn't need to tell him twice. Acheron wouldn't forgive himself, either.

* * *

After the reunion, it was time for more serious talks.

"Would you like to come back to Chu, Nabu?" asked Sailor Chu, the round ears on her head twitching and making her red hair waver.

Nabu looked down at his body, in the robes he had worn in the Silver Millennium. As Nabu, he was used to such clothes. The outer robe was easy to take off so that if he was feeling hot he could remove it, and put it back on when he was feeling cold. There were pockets, so many pockets, that could hold all the pens and spare papers and even a journal or two. Whenever he needed to take notes or jot down something, he could simply reach in for what was necessary. The embroidery held the spells to keep the clothes clean even when someone accidentally spilled ink on him. It was a fashion Nabu had literally favored and worn till his dying day, and any other type of dress would have felt awkward on him.

The thing was, though, he wasn't Nabu now. Nabu died when the Silver Millennium ended. He had been excited, almost as the time when he was chosen to be the ambassador from Chu, when the ban was lifted. It was a limited ban and due to his workload, he couldn't leave Mercury, but the fact that he could get new information was still amazing. That in his lifetime the law had lifted and there was a possibility he could get answers to the questions that plagued him was beyond satisfying.

There were even rumors, at the time, of Terra being included with the Silver Millennium, and while he ranked that to be unlikely, it was possible he was wrong because of lacking information.

It hadn't ended well. Nabu – and everyone else – had died.

And ironically, he was reborn on the very planet he had been so curious about.

Futa de la Stella had not lived the easiest of lives. His ranking abilities manifested when he started asking questions. Perhaps it was a part of his soul, yearning for the sailor soldier of his past life's planet he instinctively knew and reached for. Maybe it was just his skills as a ranker, unable to stay buried even after death and a rebirth. It could have just been that Nabu's soul, in whatever incarnation, was meant to be a ranker.

It was something many would call a gift. But it had not been a gift for him.

Futa's abilities tore him away from his parents, a boundary between the living and the dead separating them. His rankings brought information and destruction upon those that sought him.

Information was a double-edged sword, and Futa learned that through experience and pain, two of the best teachers in the world. He learned to wield it to protect himself, in a world that only wanted to use him.

All Futa had to rely on were his rankings. There was no sense of Famiglia for him, not even the fake kind only in name. Where he went destruction followed – by external forces or by internal conflict. The kind of rankings he made were cruel, and inherently destructive. The secrets that were hidden. The weaknesses that would make them crumble. The lies that were told.

Human nature was dark and filled with suspicion, and if another family didn't come after him, they broke into internal conflict on their own shortly after.

Futa was protected only by his ability to get information, and, ironically, his young age. His vulnerability gave him the minimal amount of protection, because he was a threat only in the hands of someone. He was less a person and more a valued object – like a cursed gemstone, known for bringing misfortune to all those who possessed him, but tantalizing, nonetheless.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was the first person to treat Futa as a human being. He was the first one, after Futa's powers were discovered, to treat him as a child.

Tsuna didn't care about his ranking abilities. He gawked at the additional effects – the cancellation of gravity, and by default the mess it left behind – and didn't want to hear the rankings, especially when it pertained to him. Not out of shame, for a sin he knew and committed anyways out of greed, but because of simple, humane embarrassment.

Those around him were similar. They wanted to know, but not in the way the mafia had. The questions they asked were cute. Innocent.

Harmless.

Futa wasn't naïve or foolish. He was a child, and he lacked experience, and he had much to improve and learn, but he had still survived in a world where mercy was rare, and death was easy. He still knew how to get around, to protect himself using what he had.

Eventually, he knew Tsuna would need his ranking abilities. That was what being the boss of a family meant, and the Vongola was the strongest family of them all. That was why Futa had approached Tsuna, when he realized, before anyone outside the Vongola, what change had occurred in the rankings of the strongest family.

A family that could not be easily attacked, or taken down. Futa approached Tsuna because he wanted to make himself indispensable to the person who could best protect him.

Sawada Tsunayoshi proved his rankings wrong, and treated him like a child.

Tsuna would never know what kind of salvation he was to Futa, what that meant to him. Futa hoped so, because he just wanted to be Futa to him. Futa, the little boy that called him big brother.

Futa de la Stella, the little prince who looked to the stars, had someone he could rely on. Had love and affection in his life.

Futa de la Stella, for the first time since his powers had awakened, wasn't lonely. He could be just a little boy until he wasn't. Until he could bear the responsibilities that came with age – when he was older. Not ideal, not perfect, but better.

Nabu was a dead man, had lived far longer than Futa ever did and ever would. He could look at Futa's memories, but see it from a third person's perspective.

"If you had asked me, even a few months ago," said Nabu, who wasn't Futa. "I would have said yes immediately."

Sensing the 'but' coming up, Sailor Chu waited.

"But not for myself, for Futa. My life is over." Nabu was dead. Futa was alive. "Futa has a family now. He belongs to a place, as a person. As a child. He's loved, and cared for, and protected, and that was all he ever wanted, and he has it now, such wonderful people in his life. He can live without worrying that this might be the fight that takes his life, or that he'll lose his book, or that he'll be beaten or disfigured or delimbed. His biggest worries are now about the cooking skills of a housemate, or a young friend's antics, or maybe a skinned knee."

It was a happiness Futa hadn't dared dream of, a warm light in his hands so precious to him.

The dead Nabu had no right to take that away from a living Futa. The future was unclear to him. Tsuna would change, probably. Futa would grow up, he would not be a young boy forever, and things would change.

But it was Futa's life now.

"I can't leave," apologized Nabu. " _Futa_ can't leave."

No matter what storms awaited him in the future, Futa had found a light that could keep him warm and give him hope in the darkest of nights.

* * *

Lancia, Ken and Chikusa were freed. His tools were back in his hands.

This was enough of a warmup, and enough revenge taken. It could be less personal now.

Chikusa adjusted his glasses, no longer dressed in the garbs of a prisoner. "Where to next, Master Mukuro?"

Mukuro laughed. "Why, we aim for the top, of course."

He'd heard some rather interesting things, during their journey of blood and hellfire, tearing through the wretched souls that couldn't take what they dished out in the name of the greater good. Not having the strength to stand the consequences of greed was pathetic, almost as pathetic as the corpses he left behind.

"The next head of the Vongola," he said, almost caressing the words. "Should make a most fitting puppet."

The mafia would burn, and he would be Nero, serenading the righteous inferno rampaging across Rome.

* * *

AN: you can vote on who you think deserves the most pity in this interlude!

-Acheron, for sacrificing his third and last wife to be an Arcobaleno.

-Mamoru, for being confronted with harsh tragedy / proof of war and human potential for cruelty.

-Mamoru's patients, people who have become refugees in their own country due to the effects of a civil war that, despite officially ending, still ravages the land to this day.

-Mukuro, on the warpath to destroy the mafia for everything that he suffered.

-Nabu, on dying before he uncovered the mystery and being reborn as Futa, a vulnerable boy constantly threatened for his ability from another life he isn't aware of.

-Sephira, who, following Huinari traditions coughs up blood as her internal organs are crushed due to backlash of something failing.

-Teresa, a woman who decided she would never have children because her father became an Arcobaleno and she didn't want to have any of her descendants choose that fate – only to choose becoming an Arcobaleno herself.

-Timoteo, whose sons were all killed or had to be frozen, who is pained for forcing Tsuna into the role of Vongola 10th but also has to make the decision that will protect his family and the thousands of innocents that will be harmed if the Vongola lacks a leader.

The prize is – nothing, I was just curious on who people felt sorriest for. All of them is also an option.

I know Nero didn't actually burn Rome but it was fun to write and maybe Mukuro believes that. Let him act like an edgelord, the boy's been through literal hell.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

TL;DR

Nabu: Okay but what about Terra? What about them? What's up with them? Maybe they had seers and wiser than the Sil Mil gave them credit for! See how the queen lives on the moon?

Mercurian scholars: He's such a good guy to have around (with his ranking abilities) but sometimes he really gets into conspiracy theories. *shakes head*

Sephira: Achoo!

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Saturnians - Sil Mil: ㅗ(눈ㅅ눈)ㅗ

Sil Mil - Saturnians: *looks at them how regular people look at Satanists/cultists claiming everyone's going to die on the day of revelations* Weirdos / jerks / oh god if I pretend I don't see them they won't be able to see me.

Sailor Saturn: ZZZ

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Reborn: You want me to choose between keeping a civilian boy's life intact, and keeping the relative peace of the mafia world? What kind of question is that? *cocks Leon-gun*

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Mamoru: I used to want to save the world. To end war and bring peace to mankind; but then I glimpsed the darkness that lives within their light. I learnt that inside every one of them there will always be both. The choice each must make for themselves – something no hero will ever defeat. And now I know…. that only love can truly save the world. So I stay, I fight, and I give – for the world I know can be. This is my mission now. Forever.

Kawahira: *Unimpressed Face* Cool, so you can quote a movie released in the future. Can you come up with something original, or is that just not in your skill set? Also, that quote fits your wife better than it fits you. Try again.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	34. Kokuyo I

Mama was kind. Lambo and I-Pin were friends, the first he ever had. Tsuna was a good brother. His life in Namimori could be loud, sometimes, but compared to what he had before it was calm. There was a fundamental difference in how he lived now.

Futa fell into the belief that he could live a normal life. He was homeschooled because it wasn't safe, but otherwise was allowed to live a stable, regular life, one where he didn't have to go to bed in fear that when he woke up a different person would be standing over him with different rankings to be done, or eat foods without worrying that it would be drugged.

Periodically, he took trips with people from the Vongola protecting him so he could rank in safety, but that was by far better than what he had before. Safer, too. 'Normal' was relative, and this 'normal' was one he could love, be happy with.

Futa should have known better than to believe in something as false as 'absolute safety'.

The last of his 'bodyguards' fell, peppered with needles.

"The ranking prince," said the clinical voice of the teenage boy, around Tsuna's age with blank eyes a barcode tattoo on one cheek. Everything about him seemed almost robotic, as if he lacked a few percentages from being truly human. "Come with us, or else."

He pushed up his glasses, but the other teenager with him, a wild-looking blond, grinned widely to reveal fangs in his mouth – the same fangs that had torn through the other half of the bodyguards not felled by needles. There was no need to explain what 'or else' meant.

Futa didn't need his ranking abilities to know that he didn't stand a chance against either of them. It wasn't something he was unused to, because it was all he had known, once, to be treated as a prize and threatened for what he could do, but this time the fear was worse, because he had so much more to lose. Shaking, clutching his book like it was his lifeline, he went with them.

And so ended his halcyon days.

* * *

During their conversation, Kawahira put in thirteen different illusions. Hotaru noticed, broke and pointed out each of them, and after the thirteenth one he declared her taught enough in the art of breaking illusions.

"But real illusions are different," said Kawahira. Over the usually empty table, the table that had hosted two illusions during his test, now sat a teddy bear with a purple ribbon tied around its neck.

Hotaru knew by now how to break an illusion's hold over her senses. If an illusion had control over her, she could 'feel' the illusion, recognizing the 'sensation' of something creeping over her senses to trick them.

But try as she could to break this one, she still felt it. The teddy bear had shape, and was solid in her hands. It was present.

"Where illusions take place in the mind," Kawahira said while Hotaru picked up the doll and held it upside down. "Real illusions are manifested in reality."

"Isn't that just creation?" Hotaru questioned, tugging at its ear. It was the kind of doll that was handed out as a prize at festivals, made from synthetic material that was soft, but with an almost- plastic-like texture. She had a bunny doll made of something similar, a prize from one of Takeshi's annual sweeping of any stalls that had the misfortune of offering things to those who could throw balls at targets. Every year he got something for her and Haru and returned the prizes he didn't need or want to not bankrupt fellow citizens of Namimori.

At this point, could it even be considered an 'illusion'?

"It does seem like a misnomer," Kawahira agreed, and from his ring an indigo mist trickled out, to manifest into a violin, the right size for her. "But when the caster is disrupted, or the technique cut off, it can't stay. Creation suggests that the creation can continue existing without the maker, provided it isn't destroyed."

She organized the information briefly. "What makes real illusions able to manifest in reality?"

The grin that spread across his face told her it was the right question to ask.

"A certain, innate quality. I don't mean personality or mindset – I mean, something you are quite literally born with. It's like a double joint, or an eye color. You are born with the talent for real illusions, or you are not. The extent of your talent may differ with how much training and experience goes into it, but that's it. You don't have it, by the way."

Hotaru blinked in surprise at that last bit but accepted his word for it. He had made it clear that he wouldn't teach her illusions, so it made sense that he wouldn't teach her how to create real illusions. "That doesn't seem fair."

"The world isn't fair." Kawahira wiggled his hand, and the mist drifting around them merged into a tall, humanoid shape. The mannequin made of shadows picked up the violin and began to play Paganini's Caprice No. 24. "And what is one person's strength is also their weakness. Like how a knight can jump – but only jump."

Chess was a rather adequate comparison. Each piece had their own rules in movements – but what limited them was also their strengths.

For a few minutes they just enjoyed the sound of the violin solo. Illusion as it may have been, the shadow mannequin still played the violin beautifully.

"I'm out of town for a few days," Kawahira said, as the faceless violinist began plucking the strings. "I need to see what some old acquaintances are up to."

"Helios?"

Kawahira shook his head. "Acquaintances. Your homework will be to think about ways that real illusions can be broken, at least three. I want you to be creative about it."

Just for that, Hotaru mentally noted 'throw ramen on the ground' as one way.

"Have fun on your trip," she told him as she left.

He snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "I doubt it. They don't like me very much."

* * *

The ranking book closed, and with the sound Futa flinched. For a few days now, the book was enough to hold his kidnapper's attention. The finality of the way the book was closed was like a call for an execution.

 _His_ execution.

"It's said that whoever owns this book," said the teenager with mismatched eyes, tapping a gloved finger against its cover. "Could control the mafia world with the information it holds."

Futa tried to be brave, like Tsuna, but he couldn't stop shaking. If the book wasn't holding his attention, then there was only one thing that his kidnapper would have wanted from him.

"I'll admit, this is a very helpful resource, but clearly the rumors are rather exaggerated." There was a pause. "After all, _you_ certainly don't control the mafia world."

Rokudo Mukuro stood, and Futa shook harder.

"It's always about power, in the end. Information can be power, but only in the right hands, with the right circumstances. Information was your power, but that's why you went to the Vongola, wasn't it? To find someone who could wield your power better than you could?"

Even as he was frightened, Futa shook his head. That wasn't why he went to Tsuna. It might have been the reason for why he initially tracked down the candidate for the Vongola Decimo, when he first realized the rankings for the Vongola's succession had changed, but it wasn't the reason that made Futa decide to stay.

"Oh? Is that so?" Rokudo Mukuro chuckled. "Well, it doesn't matter."

A trident manifested in his hands, the three-pronged tips sharp, and he began to advance towards Futa. "This will only sting a little – if you don't struggle."

* * *

"Before I dismiss class," said Ms. Kaai, their homeroom teacher. "I wanted to warn everyone. Some of you might have heard about the assaults on students from Namimori Middle."

A murmur rose in the class. Hotaru frowned. No one she knew had been attacked, but still. The entire town was worried. This wasn't the usual case of kids getting into a fight over hotheaded disagreements. Students were being hospitalized, and Haruka was considering driving Hotaru to and from school.

"I'm aware it's students from Namimori Middle being attacked, and so far, no one from Midori has been hurt," Ms. Kaai continued. "But that doesn't mean you all shouldn't be careful. If you see a fight, stay away. Don't go places alone, and don't go out when it's dark. Stay safe, girls. And remember – there's a test coming up, so study and don't cram."

"Yes, Ms. Kaai," they chorused, and the bell rang.

Haru picked up her bag and came to Hotaru's desk, eyes downcast with concern. "I'm worried about Tsuna-san."

"Not Takeshi?" Hotaru asked playfully.

"Him too," Haru added. "But Takeshi-kun's usually with the baseball team, or with Tsuna-san and Gokudera-san. He's not alone a lot."

True.

Hotaru was a little worried, too, despite her earlier teasing. The cause didn't seem to have anything to do with monsters or magic, meaning it was a human thing. Setsuna did say, though, that Hibari – the son of her friend, that was, as in the infamous prefect of Namimori Middle – was looking into it.

Maybe Kawahira would have a good idea about what was going on. She could ask when he returned from his trip. Hotaru was fairly sure it wasn't a ghost of a boy murdered twenty years ago exacting revenge on the students of his former school, like some of the rumors currently being discussed two desks away, but still. Something was going on in Namimori, and she was concerned.

"I know we said we were going to study together," said Haru. "But is it okay if I go and check on Tsuna-san?"

* * *

Inside Futa's soul, Nabu stirred, despite the impossibility of that. Perhaps it was because of his coming in contact with Sailor Chu. Perhaps it was because the powers of Rokudo Mukuro were related to reincarnation. Perhaps it was because Futa was a special case.

Whatever the reason, Nabu was awake within Futa's dreamscape now. The space they were in was vast, and empty. A pair of double doors, chained and locked, was the only thing that existed other than himself and Futa. Futa was curled up, hands over his ears and eyes squeezed shut in fear.

The doors shook, and with each booming sound of an attack, the chains rattled, threatening to give way to force.

Someone was trying to break in. In the way one knew something with full certainty without knowing how they knew it, Nabu knew that whoever was trying to invade this space that was within Futa's mind wanted to use Futa.

Nabu knelt at Futa's side. "Futa."

His reincarnation didn't respond, and so he put a hand to Futa's head, a gentle touch that, despite the lack of harmful intent behind it, nonetheless made Futa flinch.

"It's okay," he soothed, like Tsuna did when Futa had nightmares. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," Futa said, voice wet with tears, the hopeless weeping of someone who was doing everything he could to just hold off the inevitable for a few moments longer. "He's going to control me and use me and hurt Tsuna-nii and Mama and Lambo and I-Pin and-"

Nabu cut him off before he could list everyone that he cared about. It was a longer list than before, and they didn't have time for that. In dreams and in the soul, time could be stretched so that a moment outside was far longer in here, but the enemy was someone who walked dreams and manipulated the senses, so that advantage was useless. They really didn't have much time.

"Will he?"

"Yes."

" _Can_ he?"

Futa opened his mouth to say yes, and then stopped. "Who are you?"

Nabu smiled. That he asked the question, didn't know who he was, was in itself an answer to the question Nabu was about to ask Futa now. Already, Futa was trying to shut away his ranking ability, the very power that all residents of the planet Chu had. The power Futa, despite being of Earth, had because of Nabu.

He was trying to shut away Nabu. Nabu would help him with that. He needed to realize the source of his power to truly discard it.

"You, in another life far before. It's from me that your ranking powers manifested."

Despite his fear and the situation Futa seemed curious, and Nabu would usually have loved to answer his questions – who could say that they had a chance to speak with their reincarnation, after all? – but they were nearly out of time.

"There's one way that I can help you," Nabu said. The only way Nabu could help him, and what he offered was so minimal it was pathetic. "The power you have right now is because of me – it's not something a Terran should rightfully have."

"Terran?"

"Human, sorry. No time," he added when Futa opened his mouth for additional questions. "Your powers are why Rokudo Mukuro wants you, and that's what you fear most – that you'll hurt your family."

Futa nodded. He was a smart boy, something Nabu didn't say just because Futa was his reincarnation.

"I can take away your powers, leave you useless to his schemes. But," he added, because this was the catch. "If you're useless to him, he may kill you. What would you like me to do?"

Futa didn't seem surprised at the logical conclusion Nabu spoke of, and of course he didn't. He was a smart boy, too smart because he had to be. If it was his powers the invader wanted, then his worth was greatly decreased without it, to the point where he was more hindrance than boon. He had grown up with greedy hands trying to snatch him up, trails of blood not his left behind his life and leaving scars from trauma in his heart.

"I accept," he said instead, so firmly that even Nabu was a little taken aback at the complete lack of hesitation. No considering the implications carefully, no mentally ranking the pros and cons, no asking further questions. Just a steady, unshaking decision.

He hadn't lied, in telling Futa that he could take away his ranking powers, but truth be told there was more to that. It wasn't just a one-sided transaction. The power itself might have come from Nabu, but it was Futa who needed to let go, because it was Futa who was alive. As soon as he was aware of this he could shut it away himself.

Nabu did have to warn him. If he withdrew traces of his past life, locked himself up beyond reach of even someone who could cross the barrier of the mind, Nabu would likely never be able to manifest again. It was the natural way of things, because Nabu was dead and should stay dead so that Futa could live his life without the ghost of a life he didn't know hanging over his shoulders, but with him would go the powers Futa had.

And Futa was alive.

However troublesome his powers may have been, drawing in misfortune the way treasures drew in greed and curses, they were still undeniably something that could be helpful, something that would be missed. They were still a form of protection for Futa, the only weapon he had. "It may never be reversible."

The chains groaned with strain. Alarmed by the approaching danger, Futa's eyes widened with urgency.

"That's fine," he said, the pitch of his voice raised in worry. "Do it!"

Nabu nodded, because that command by itself was more than enough to do the job, and accepted death a second time – and with the dark oblivion that came took the traces of himself left on Futa.

"Goodbye, Futa," he said, as he began to disappear. "And good luck."

The last thing Nabu saw was the doors burst open, and he laughed at the hell that would soon be disappointed at what they found as he slipped away.

It might be a paltry resistance, but it was theirs.

* * *

There was a light thud, as if a stuffed animal had hit the ground. It wasn't a significant sound, and had there been more noise around, he might not have even caught it.

But his ears did catch the sound, so Tsuna glanced at the source of the noise and screamed. "What _is_ that?!"

"Leon's tail," Reborn answered, and true to his word, the small chameleon had a stump instead of a tail. "It broke off."

The green tail flopped a few times, as if in response, and Tsuna's face decided it wanted to follow the pigmentation of the detached tail on the ground.

He was seriously grossed out, but Reborn picked it up carefully. "Whenever this happens, it's an unlucky sign."

Tsuna looked around the hospital, at all the people who were from Namimori or related to someone from his school, filled with concern for their hospitalized acquaintances. 'Unlucky' seemed like the right way to describe it.

* * *

Rokudo Mukuro emerged from the mindscape of the now-unconscious ranking prince, a contemplative smile curving his lips upwards.

The ranking prince's abilities were always known for being interesting, but to think that it would be out of his reach, even under mind control, was surprising.

He could respect the resolve the young boy showed, choosing to rid himself of the very thing that might have kept him alive if only to keep it out of his hands. Reckless, but brave and defiant, a refusal to be used.

If only it wasn't dedicated to the filth of this world that was the mafia.

"I had hoped you might know better," he murmured, and it wasn't a lie. The ranking prince, of all people, should have wanted the mafia to be destroyed. It could simply have been that he was still too young, or that he hadn't seen the same hells Mukuro did to lose his sense of reality as he had, but still.

A pity that he wouldn't be his ally in the best way – but there were always other paths to take.

"What kind of a man is the Vongola Decimo?" he asked a question that wouldn't be answered – not right away, no, but soon. Ken and Chikusa were already in Namimori, sending a message through the language of blood, heralding the time ticking down to Mukuro's gaining a new puppet. Wasn't it natural, to be curious about the man whose body he would wear like a corpse doll as he laid the world to ruin?

A civilian, but chosen by _the_ Vongola Nono himself, and the way that Futa de la Stella closed his heart off for the code of _omertà_ suggested he was already a ruthless man, stained with sin and crime and enforcing his ways with force and fear.

Mukuro looked forward to stealing his life from him.

The sounds of the fight had been steadily growing louder, but it came to its climax when an unconscious body was thrown through the already-weak glass. Through the newly created opening stepped in a proud soul, wielding two tonfas.

"You've finally come," Mukuro said, perhaps a little theatrically. But wasn't it the right mood for such dramatics – a dark hero, come for a fight, and the villain reclining in his seat like it was a throne in the shadows?

(In stories he never had the chance to grow up on, the hero would emerge victorious. But Mukuro grew up to the sounds of clinical voices discussing medication and procedures, and his own screams.

There were no happy endings, in those.)

"It took a while to find you," said number one on the ranking list taken from the foolishly loyal child. "Are you the ringleader behind this mischief?"

A proud soul, and, for someone in a small town, with the right to be so, that Mukuro would give him.

But a frog in a well, too, for he had too small a scale. Even now, he classified Mukuro's plans as 'mischief'.

As if 'mischief' was enough a word to contain the grand scheme of his plans.

Feeling magnanimous towards one with too narrow a vision, Mukuro did not correct him. He would learn, soon enough. "Fu fu fu, something like that. Next, we'll bring a new order to your town."

"You must be thick. Namimori does not require two orders."

The first correct thing the proud boy had said since arriving. "Indeed, I agree wholeheartedly. Since I'll be taking over, we won't have any further need for you."

Spikes sprung up from the tonfas.

"That won't be happening," said Hibari Kyoya with the confidence of one not yet broken and beaten. "Because right here and right now, I'm going to bite you to death."

A puppy, barking at a tiger because he was brave with his ignorance. Mukuro would just have to teach him the error of his ways, then.

* * *

AN: In TYL I hope Rokudo Mukuro apologized or made up for what he did to Futa. For those who don't remember the interlude, Futa's past life = Nabu, the scholar from Chu who moved to the SilMil and died with everyone else two thousand years ago.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

TL;DR

Kawahira: They don't like me very much.

Vindice: *LITERALLY BURNING WITH HATRED THAT KEEPS THEM HAUNTING THIS MORTAL REALM*

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Nabu: only a legend would use their second, true death as a middle finger to someone invading their mindscape

Mukuro: Impressive. But I'm not done with you yet.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	35. Kokuyo II

He'd lived in mansions, castles, a kingdom ruled by an actual queen who was _very_ aggressive in and out of bed, and in expensive hotels – and still not been nearly at ease as he was now, in this small, obscure town.

Namimori was a weird place, but Shamal liked it.

For all that it was not ordinary, there was still a peace to the town that came from a lack of death around every corner. It was the kind of place that let Shamal be a doctor over a hitman.

He didn't get to do that, often, no matter what he preferred. For that alone – although the pay was definitely a factor, as was the chance to have the Vongola owe him one – this job was worth it, no matter his personal opinions about the heir being groomed for the throne.

Even now Shamal was skeptical about Sawada Tsunayoshi making a good Vongola Decimo. The boy wasn't the type who would thrive in the dark world Shamal lurked in, and while people changed, Shamal still remembered him with Skull Disease.

Skull Disease, the borderline-supernatural condition that forced the darkest secrets to the surface of their skin for all to see, in their own hand as if they'd taken a pen and written the confession themselves.

Because that was what Skull Disease did. It was called that because of the skull rattling out hidden truths for the world to see, but Shamal had always been of the belief that it was a misnomer. It was so much more than the skull.

Unlike what Reborn had claimed, Skull Disease didn't kill, not directly. Contrarily, it was a condition that was a sign of a struggle to live. Truly live, in the sense of stripping away the mask everyone wore and reveal the true self by spilling what the affected ones saw as secrets making up their selves, their greatest shames. The parts they weren't proud of and wanted to hide and could not dissociate themselves from no matter what.

It was just that in this world – and in the world that Shamal lived in, especially – to reveal such things was to give one's weakness to anyone with eyes. Confession of murder, of wrongs, proof on the skin of all their sins?

A death sentence, delivered sooner or later. In that sense it was very lethal. Physically, spiritually, maybe socially.

There was a cure, other than Angel Disease, but given the time-consuming nature of the 'traditional' cure, Reborn, impatient as he was and disliking inefficiency, had simply called in Shamal.

And Shamal witnessed the confession of a boy who clearly did not belong in the world of the mafia.

The sheer mundanity of the secrets the disease spilled was, well, refreshing. Nothing about murder, destruction, greed, violence, jealousy, lust, want or shame.

Dumb, almost child-like truths. Secrets that didn't harm anyone, except maybe himself – and even then, it was only mild embarrassment.

It was unreal.

The boy couldn't drink coffee, was scared of moths and slugs, wasn't the smartest kid around, and so on. Shamal couldn't understand it, and it was more than just the question of why anyone would have difficulty with something as simple as the multiplication table. He had known it by the time he was three, and Hayato learned it early enough, too.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was a dumb kid with dumb secrets that didn't belong in the world of the mafia. If Shamal was a betting man, he would bet that as he was now, Sawada Tsunayoshi, the boy who was scared to sleep without a light, wouldn't last two days in the darkness.

But, well, if anyone could change a boy like that into a decent boss, Shamal supposed Reborn could.

And speaking of Reborn –

Shamal preferred being a doctor, he really did. His mother had, for as long as Shamal remembered, been devoted to finding cures or treatments for diseases he drew in like honey drawing in flies. He grew up listening to her discuss medicine with his father, was familiar from a young age with the tools of her trade, and first read her medical texts instead of picture books.

Even after his parents died and he was left to care for himself, Shamal wanted first and foremost to save lives, not end them. Neither he nor this world wasn't soft enough to forgive those that tried to kill him or force him to do something he didn't want, but he was a doctor first. Keeping someone holding onto life was harder than killing them, and therefore more precious.

But he was also a talented hitman, who took the trick of controlling mosquitos his father taught him and turned it into a deadly means.

Reborn warned him to keep an eye on Sasagawa Kyoko and Kurokawa Hana and step in if – _when_ – they were in danger. Shamal had no problems with that – they were students at the school he worked at, and while he didn't have the pride that the weird Hibari kid did, he _was_ a professional. Students he was supposed to take care of wouldn't be put in danger by some second-rate hitmen.

Especially not by those sent by Rokudo Mukuro. Just yesterday all Shamal knew was that he and his minions had escaped the Vindice's prison. Impressive, but also not a big worry because they would soon be hunted down and the fault corrected. It was the _Vindice_. Shamal gave them a month, tops, and didn't give more thought to it.

Then they just had to go and attack Hayato.

Stubborn and bull-headed and blind as he was, Shamal was still a little fond of Hayato. He was never going to have kids, which made his cousin's kid the closest thing he'd ever have to a son of his own. He'd been there to keep Lavina alive through her pregnancy, to help her deliver the brat, to watch over him as he grew up.

Closest. Shamal wasn't a father figure, would never be a father figure to Hayato. Couldn't, really.

Shamal wasn't big on family. Family had a way of dying on him. Lavina was dead, his uncle and aunt were dead, his parents were dead. He was a magnet for diseases and viruses, alive only by a dumb miracle of coincidence. Whatever family legacy his old man and Lavina's father had going on, Shamal wasn't interested in continuing or finding out, let alone forcing on Hayato.

Hayato was still the dumb brat that didn't understand the value of life, the weight it had. Shamal was still furious that he would consider pride to be of greater importance than his life, the very life Lavina fought so hard to give him.

Even now, the dumb brat prioritized fighting over healing his injuries. Off with the packet of medicine to treat the disease Hibari was infected with, and a powerful virus burning through his veins right now, not a clue towards what was most important.

Shamal ran a hand through his hair and stood up. He could try to teach the dumbass things to keep him alive, he could try to lead him towards seeing the value of his own life, but at the end of the day it was his life Hayato had to live. It was his choices he had to bear the burdens of.

Time to work and keep the health of the students in this school.

* * *

It was his fault that Gokudera was hurt by the guy with the yo-yos, because like an idiot he had frozen and needed to be protected. If Bianchi force-fed him a tableful of her Poison Cooking, Tsuna could honestly say that he wouldn't have the right to look her in the eyes and refuse. He wouldn't like it, but he'd definitely feel a lot of pressure.

According to Reborn, it was also because of him that this was all happening.

Tsuna pulled on his clothes, but he took a glance back towards his mom, and Lambo, and I-Pin. The kids were happy as could be, unaware of the problem brewing in town. As for his mom, he was essentially about to go to the very base of operations for the people responsible for her worry for precisely the kind of reason that would give her a heart attack if she found out.

Jailbreak? Prisoners? Rokudo Mukuro?

The words were still a little foreign to him, because they didn't belong in the normal life he'd been living. The one where he had fun – despite Reborn's chaos being thrown into the mix – with his friends.

Ordinary days.

His hand stayed. Was it going to be possible to go back to those days? He didn't disagree that Rokudo Mukuro had to be stopped, if only because he couldn't just watch Gokudera, or Yamamoto, or anyone else get hurt because of him, but Tsuna felt like he was standing on the edge of something big, something deep.

One more step, and there was going to be a change.

Tsuna was scared about what that would mean, because if there was no going back –

"That's why we're going to go and put a stop to them," said Reborn, matter-of-factly, interrupting the downward spiral his thoughts were entering. "So we can return to our ordinary days."

Reborn had a way of saying things like it wasn't a big deal when it was. Tsuna huffed. "You make it sound easy – what the heck?!"

Face covered with the goopy green cocoon that was Leon, Reborn stood in front of him like he was wearing the head of an alien mascot designed to scare the living daylights out of everyone who saw it.

Somehow, Reborn acting like Reborn made Tsuna feel better about the whole situation. A sense of security, in that it was going to go well.

"Oh, by the way, I won't be taking part in the fight, so do your best to not die."

Like an ice chip under a hot summer sun, his relief disappeared without a trace. "For real?!"

How was he supposed to fight convicts that escaped a high-security prison without Reborn helping?

To make things worse, there was only one Dying Will Bullet because those were apparently made inside Leon like pearls in a clam shell. It was official, this was the weirdest, worst day ever. The news that there was only one Dying Will Bullet to be shot into his head wasn't cheering him up but doing the complete opposite instead. He should be happy that he wasn't going to strip down to his underwear and do crazy things, but was he? _No_ , instead he was disappointed that he wouldn't be fighting in his boxers against convicts who escaped from prison to come after him. The world could end right this moment and he wouldn't be more scared than he was now.

But even so, Tsuna stepped out with his friends and began to make his way towards Kokuyo Land.

* * *

When the ground collapsed under the combined weight of him and his attacker and he fell, Takeshi's first thought was, 'I'm in so much trouble'.

Because if Haru or Hotaru heard that he died from falling, they were going to be so mad. Either they would think he jumped on purpose 'again', or think he was stupid enough to go on another high but not very secure place and do stupid things.

Then he landed and the pain was effective in knocking out the dumb thoughts from his brain. Ow.

The good news was, he wasn't dead, or hurt. Sure, a little pain from the rough landing, but nothing serious.

The not-too-good news, possibly bad news, was that he wasn't alone down here.

"Be careful!" Tsuna shouted from far above, and wow, he really had fallen far. "There's a beast or something to your right!"

Rough breaths, not just from him, filled the air, and Takeshi tensed as something dark moved forward. He liked animals and all, but between the zombie dog puppets and whatever beast this was –

"Welcome, Yamamoto Takeshi," said the thing in the shadows, and Takeshi corrected himself. Not a beast, a person.

"Kakipi's asleep, you know~" continued the figure in the shadows, and it was a guy's voice, not one he recognized. He didn't know who 'Kakipi' was, either. "I've got no orders, and nothing to do, so I'm really bored."

It was almost like a suspenseful scene from television, where the character was approached by the villain, emerging from the dark. Whoever was in there, he was speaking like the role, too, almost like this was a game he was winning.

"Then here comes my prey, all by himself. That makes me . . ."

There was only one source of light down here, through the hole he fell. The figure finally stepped into that limited light, and Takeshi recognized the Kokuyo uniform only.

"Real happy," finished the guy. He looked around their age, with wild, spiky blond hair. A horizontal scar stretched across his nose, under his eyes. He wasn't the type of person whose appearance was easily forgotten, and Takeshi felt pretty safe in saying that he'd never met him before.

It didn't take long for the blond to start. He rushed at Takeshi with a speed that made him briefly want to pull a Sasagawa Ryohei and recruit someone into the baseball team. Sure, he was in a different school, but that speed was impressive.

Pitches – both baseball and recruiting – could be made later, though. Takeshi dodged to the right, but the Kokuyo student didn't stop.

The blond jumped up – far up, above even Takeshi's head with enough force to twist mid-air and grip the wall.

A moment later, he pushed off, as if jumping, releasing a wild whoop. Gravity helped with the direction he was aiming toward – down, at Takeshi – and he had only a moment to pull the bat from behind him to in front of him.

Takeshi was used to his bat by now. The telescope feature, he didn't use as much because there were only so many times he could look around with it before he got bored.

But turning it into a sword? That was a feature he used in practice a lot, because it required control over the speed of his swings.

Takeshi brought it forwards, in front of him, the sword acting as a shield. Maybe it was wrong of him to use it as a shield instead of a blade, though, because a second after he did that, the blade shattered.

Where the blade had been, there was a scarred face, giving him a fanged grin. Literally – he had changed, just a little, so that he was still recognizable, but different, nonetheless. From between the fangs – long, like an animal's, not human teeth and not like what he had been like just a moment ago – dropped the broken shards of his bat in blade form.

The larger part of the blade, snapped off, flew behind him with the impact of the attack, and clattered loudly.

Instead of pushing forth and continuing to attack, the blond leapt back and whooped loudly.

"The next thing I gouge out," he said, shards of metal dropping from his mouth. "Will be your throat."

Oh, Takeshi realized. So that's how it was. Instead of aiming for anywhere else – and he could have – the blond aimed for his sword and broke it with a bite. Instead of pushing forth when Takeshi was surprised and likely wouldn't have been able to respond as quickly, the blond jumped back and taunted him.

He was being underestimated. And maybe that was fair – he hadn't exactly done anything impressive so far, after all. But still – sheesh.

Takeshi didn't like to think of himself as a sore loser. He just liked to win. That wasn't something anyone could blame him for. Everyone liked to win, and it wasn't like he cheated or had no boundaries he was willing to leave uncrossed for the sake of victory. If he lost, then he had a new goal – to improve, so that the revenge match ended very differently. Work hard for victory, so he could be proud of it.

In this case, where his bat had just been broken and he was being issued a challenge, it was obvious what he had to do.

Takeshi had to step up and take his opponent seriously, so that he'd regret not taking Takeshi seriously.

"So, that's the rule, then?" he asked, taking off his bag and tossing it to the side, where he was less likely to trip over it.

Maybe his point got across, because the blond explained his sudden change.

"You know how you can change game cartridges to play different games?" He held up a hand near his face, and between each finger rested a set of teeth. It wasn't the kind of set old people wore so they could use their fake teeth to chew – it was the kind of teeth people wore with costumes, to look like they had fangs.

It was a pretty cool kind of doping, though Takeshi didn't really want to use it himself or see it used in a baseball match. That wouldn't really be fair.

Especially the gorilla doping. That was a close one. He patted down his biceps to check for injuries. No breaks or tears on his arms, thankfully, but that was because of luck.

"You keep running away," drawled the blond, resting his attacks in a crouch. "Are you purposely drawing out this fight with an opponent like me?"

Well, his strategy _was_ to dodge the blows while looking for a slip-up from his opponent so he could strike, but he didn't want to say that. "Aha ha, nah, nothing like that. It's just I have other things to do than the mafia game, you know."

Like he was going to show Hotaru injuries from non-baseball things. Yeah, right.

"I don't get you, dumbass." Another swipe, and while it didn't hit him, it did catch on his wristband and shred the cloth.

A good thing, Takeshi thought, but then Tsuna fell from the hole above with a scream.

Tsuna was fine, still alive – though in pain, guessing from the sounds – but like a wolf with its eyes on a new prey, the blond turned to Tsuna.

Okay, change of plans, _now_.

There were a lot of rubble around, broken piece of concrete and dirt and glass and a bunch of other junk.

It wasn't hard to find some pieces of concrete roughly the same size and shape of a baseball.

Takeshi threw the first one, and it struck the wild blond hairstyle with a solid _thwack_. He threw it a little desperately, so while it didn't lack in accuracy, it lacked in power. Still, the strike was enough to stop him from lunging towards Tsuna and turn around to face Takeshi again.

The blond looked fine, just a little annoyed, as most people would be when they were pelted with rocks. "What?!"

He still had one more chunk in his hand. Takeshi showed it off, tossing it upwards with a flick of his wrist before snatching it out of the air with little effort.

"You were fighting me first, right?" Takeshi raised it to the front like the piece of rubble was the only thing he had – but more importantly, the only thing he _needed_. "C'mon. If I get you with this, it's game, set and match."

He fell for the taunt. "Challenge mode, huh? Then here's me being serious."

Spots grew over his face. "Cheetah Channel!"

The speed before? That was nothing, compared to this sprint. Takeshi threw, this time with proper force, but there was no accuracy there. Or rather, there would have been, but the blond dodged it.

His bat was broken, and the handle wasn't long enough to be his shield. Takeshi raised his left arm in front of him and felt the pain a split second later, skin pierced by fangs and force.

It hurt, a lot – but it was his left arm held tight, and Takeshi was righthanded.

And despite his bat being broken, he still had the handle in his right hand.

"Got you!"

Takeshi smashed the butt of the handle into his temple with as much force as the pain he felt. The resulting crack, and the guy collapsing, was as satisfactory as a home run.

He hissed in pain as his arm was released, and – yup. He was in trouble. It wasn't something he'd be able to hide very easily, even if it wasn't too serious or permanent.

But –

"I'm sorry!" Tsuna, despite the fall he'd taken, was staring at his arm with horror turning his face pale. "I'm sorry, it's all my fault! Your arm, it's -" he took a deep breath and blurted out the rest. "What about the tournament coming up?!"

His friend looked ready to cry.

Despite the pain, Takeshi smiled. There were a few things he regretted in life but being friends with Tsuna was never going to be one of them.

"Give me a break, Tsuna," he said, keeping his voice light to lessen Tsuna's worry. "I'm not the kind of person that would choose baseball over a friend, you know."

That Yamamoto Takeshi had died on the school roof, after the turning point that taught him what was important.

* * *

Contrary to the belief of witch-hunters in the past, most witches did not go around causing plagues or pestilence or illnesses. Using magic to curse someone into ill health required a pretty heavy price, one that could end up corrupting the soul and leaving them vulnerable to very nasty things.

Any cunning folk with half a functioning brain wouldn't curse someone to death, lest their very magic grow dark against them. The ones that had been burned were always those that were scapegoated to appease the mob, likely healers who had only wanted to use their gift to help them from diseases brought by their own literal filth.

The good died young. The ones that survived were those who prioritized their own survival above that of the dumb masses and became more 'cunning'. Secretive.

And for some, willing to get their hands dirty if necessary.

Using magic to kill someone directly and using magic to create something that could then be used to kill someone were two very different things. A curse to make someone die? Difficult, and also costly. A bit of magic to, say, change the nature of food so that instead of providing life it threatened it? Surprisingly easy if one had a talent for potions and applied the knowledge correctly. Poisons used right could become medicine and vice versa, after all.

It wasn't common, per say, for cunning folk to go into the hitman profession like Bianchi did. The root of their practice was, after all, based in helping others. Unorthodox and not scientific, but still effective.

Most cunning folk nowadays who used their gifts went into other services, such as folk healing, potion or charm making, dowsing, or exorcism. Even the mafia – _especially_ the mafia – ran into problems that were not quite fully on the boundaries of this side of the world. It was more profitable in the long run to not curse people. Vengeance demanded two graves dug, and curses affected the caster, too.

Not common, but not impossible. Bianchi herself was one such example of someone who didn't always use her gift to heal or help, even if she was more the 'flying this by the seat-of-her-pants' kind of _maga_ than a proper one.

And clearly, so was this one. Not all redheads were witches, contrary to what stereotypes there were about redheaded women, but the sample population here really wasn't helping those claims. She had hair of a reddish shade, inherited from her mother along with her knowledge, and M.M.' s hair was dark red, the kind that came to mind at the word 'redhead'.

As much as she disagreed with the girl's mindset, Bianchi had to admit that she was more than decent in that regard. Magic using music as a medium were mostly supportive in nature. Healing, primarily, especially for the mind and soul. It wasn't carrying a curse, but the way she amplified the vibrations to the point where they could act like a microwave was impressive and suggested that M.M. had a talent for her brand of magic, even if it was rough around the edges. She was probably untrained but had still figured out how to make use of the gift she'd been born with.

And that made Bianchi be the one to step in to fight, instead of letting the future Vongola and his potential guardians be the ones to take the challenge. That was why Reborn called her over, to recognize enemies of the cunning kind and get the Vongola Decimo used to poisons.

She wasn't the best at exorcising curses or casting protective spells over others. It was doubtful that Tsuna or Yamamoto would push this M.M. to the point of her cursing them, and Hayato certainly wouldn't when Tsuna was here, but still.

"This one's mine." Bianchi could protect herself, because she knew what to be on the lookout for, what to avoid and deal with if M.M. grew desperate enough to manage a raw curse with her dying breath.

Even if it was unlikely. No truly powerful cunning folk was ever so obsessed with something as material as money.

"It's not money that's important," she said, slapping down a challenge. "It's love."

Magic, like all things truly important, came from the heart, and love.

M.M. gave her a look just loaded with disdain. "Love? What are you, a Disney princess? Bring it on, then."

Bianchi pulled up two large plates filled with Poison Cooking, each one holding enough to feed three, if they survived consumption of it long enough to finish their portions. She wasn't exactly a proper _maga_ herself, since she left to find her own path before her mother could teach her all the tricks of the trade, but she _was_ a proper hitman.

And so was M.M., it looked like. Just force, no curses were in the soundwaves. Each Burning Vibrato boiled the contents of the large plates she carried as shields until they burst, and close enough now Bianchi pulled up a shortcake to finish her off.

M.M., in return, undid her clarinet with a snap of her wrist, changing the instrument to a nunchaku.

"Sorry to disappoint," she drawled, flipping the blunt weapon around her body expertly, "but close-quarters combat is my specialty, too."

She swung towards her face, hard and brutal, and Bianchi had to throw herself with the blow to lessen injury. Her cheek protested in pain and she fell ungracefully to the ground, but she wasn't concussed or knocked out, would have no difficulty continuing to fight if she needed to, which was a plus.

And more importantly, Bianchi had touched the weapon. The weapon that, by its nature as a wind instrument, would meet the hitman's mouth and tongue.

"'Love'?" scorned M.M., reconnecting the separated pieces back into a single instrument. "Don't make me laugh. _Nothing_ beats money. I'll boil that into your brain."

M.M. raised the clarinet to her lips, and Bianchi smiled as the tingle of the magic that was her Poison Cooking ran up her fingers. Game set and match.

* * *

AN: Shamal and Bianchi, like Futa, joined in Daily Life but only really got the spotlight in this arc, because it would have just been a copy+paste of canon and I'm trying to avoid that.

In Petrichor Shamal (and Gokudera) are related, and descendants of a guardian. Bianchi, though not a descendant, is a witch (cunning folk, _maga_ ), as was mentioned in interlude ii. You cannot tell me that Bianchi isn't a witch. She turns food into poison, she has immunity to poison, and she calls in a summoner so she can exorcise the ghost of her ex. I like magic and witches.

 _Maga_ refers to the Italian word for 'sorceress'.

Updating for not just the FE Heroes banner like I usually do, but also on the day of elections so depending on who wins I might be very happy or depressed.

TL;DR

Shamal: Yeah, the brat means nothing to me I'm not his keeper or anything.

Also Shamal: Anyone associated with Rokudo Mukuro is going to die of a painful disease.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Takeshi: The girls are never going to believe it if I tell them I got hurt from falling accidentally I need to not get hurt.

Also Takeshi, to a hitman: fITE ME SRSLY.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	36. Kokuyo III

**TW for Acid Attack**

* * *

M.M. collapsed, knocked unconscious by her clarinet being turned into Poison Cooking, and Gokudera looked ready to copy her actions at the slightest provocation. Tsuna honestly couldn't blame her or him – just imagining something like the shift from a regular (?) clarinet to something as toxic as Bianchi's Poison Cooking happening inside his own mouth was more than enough to make him sick.

Or it could have been the stench of the Poison Cooking. That was just as likely.

"I'm glad you've defeated that greedy chit," said an unfamiliar voice from their left, and snapped Tsuna out of his nausea.

"Who's there?"

Approaching them was a man who had to be at least middle-aged, dressed in the Kokuyo uniform. Below his black bucket hat his hair was grey, and he looked feeble, around Tsuna's height. If it wasn't for the middle school uniform – something someone his age shouldn't have worn, like Mangusta in the Namimori Middle Uniform – Tsuna might have almost thought he was an older man who enjoyed hiking, because in one hand he carried a walking stick.

But there was something unpleasant about his smile that made Tsuna want to take a step back, and in the other hand he had an opened laptop.

"Now, now," he said, as if he was just an old man in the neighbourhood passing by. "Calm down. Your friends are my next targets, after all."

Tsuna's first instinct was to turn to check on Yamamoto and Gokudera. Both were still there, and though a little battered and messy from their run-in with the zombie wolves, still fine.

"It's probably hard for you to understand what I mean, so let me show you," said the old man, and pressed a button on his laptop. On the wall next to them, the light of projections was thrown up, showing two different scenes.

One showed Kyoko and Hana, speaking with each other about something. The other had Haru and Hotaru, walking in an empty street and discussing something over opened notebooks filled with neat writing. A few steps behind them I-Pin and Lambo followed, playing with Haru's gymnastic ribbons.

Both scenes were incredibly peaceful, and therefore incredibly out of place here. The discrepancy gave Tsuna a terrible feeling.

"Why are the girls on the screen?!" Tsuna demanded, because he was beginning to understand what he said about his friends being the next targets. And it wasn't a good understanding.

"You bastard," snarled Gokudera, just as quick on the update.

"Now, now," said the old man in the uniform, as a yellow-feathered bird fluttered down from the sky to perch comfortably on his shoulder. "I did tell you to stay calm. My name is Birds – and as the name implies, my hobby is keeping birds."

The screen shook, a little, like whoever was holding the camera had moved.

"My little darlings are transmitting these images to us through the cameras they have." He pressed a button. "And microphones, too."

"- _needs to stop doing crazy things,"_ Hana's voice synched with the movements of her lips. _"Who falls off a roof? Who_ climbs _on a roof_?"

 _"It was a chimney,"_ Kyoko corrected. Hana's expression made it clear that she didn't care about the difference, it was still crazy to her either way.

 _"I need a haircut,"_ Hotaru said, after sweeping back her hair. " _It's getting too long."_

 _"Why not grow it out?"_ Haru suggested, flipping a page. _"I think it would look really pretty."_

Hotaru didn't look very enthused at the idea. _"I don't like having long hair."_

It was just an ordinary conversation they were having. Nothing special or exciting or weird, just average.

As if to mock the averageness of the scene, behind them appeared two spindly men, grotesque parodies of skeletal monsters that moved like spiders scrambling across a surface. It might have been funny, seeing them move the way they did while dressed in the Kokuyo uniform.

It wasn't funny now, not when they were lurking around the girls. Suddenly they were like spiders after prey, caught in a web.

"Oh? Have you noticed?" Birds said in his high-pitched, unpleasant way of speaking. "That's a pair of hitmen loyal to me. Their cute faces are the way they are because they were locked up in restraints for ten years without getting them removed. You see, back when they were free, they used to be brutal serial killers – the infamous Bloody Twins."

Tsuna had never heard of them, but he didn't dare say that out loud. It wouldn't have mattered, anyways. The Bloody Twins, grotesquely shaped bodies twisting into odd forms, flitted behind the girls, silent despite their odd limbs and movements.

"What are you planning to do to the girls?"

"Nothing," answered Birds, and that was the biggest lie Tsuna had ever heard in his life. "If you follow my orders, that is."

"Quit fucking around!" Gokudera's patience snapped, and he grabbed Birds by the front of his shirt. There was almost no resistance there, and the old man nearly hung from Gokudera's grip due to the difference in their heights. "They have nothing to do with this! Call them off or I'll tear you apart!"

In the face of the threat Birds cackled. "Better not touch me, boy," he sang. "After all, they're the ones who'll get it."

On-screen, a nailed finger brushed against Haru's collar, and a palm skimmed Kyoko's head. Neither noticed.

"Their lives," Birds spelled out, "are in my hands. Unless their lives and wellbeing mean nothing to you, none of you are in any position to protest. It would be wise for you to let me go and not touch me again, you foolish boy."

Gokudera swore, but he released Birds, almost throwing him down.

After straightening his clothes like they were expensive clothes instead of the Kokuyo uniform, Birds smiled. "Now then. I want one of you to give the future Vongola Decimo, Sawada Tsunayoshi-kun here, a real pounding, please. Hard enough to draw blood, understand?"

"You-"

"Of course, it's perfectly alright if you refuse," Birds interrupted smoothly, before Gokudera could explode on him. "We still have four girls, after all – I'm sure as your friends they'd love to take your place in my game and suffer in your stead. What did that one say?"

Birds turned to the screen where the Midori girls were. "Oh, she's a pretty one," he murmured. "Wanted a haircut, didn't she? My dear Didi would just love to help her shorten her hair – with fire."

Like the world's worst magic trick, the twin slinking behind Hotaru brandished a lighter in his spidery hands.

"And girls like matching with their friends, so it can be a four-for-one deal," Birds added, and on the other screen, behind Kyoko and Hana, another lighter was revealed. "I'm sure they'll just _scream_ at the results – the Twins are quite talented."

Gokudera remembered the threat from before, but that didn't stop him from glowering at Birds. "You perverted freak."

"You're sick." Yamamoto glared, and Tsuna had seen him competitive, but never this angry. The anger, though, had something Tsuna recognized in Gokudera and himself – the frustration that he couldn't do anything about it, the helplessness in that they could only watch on a screen instead of doing something, the guilt that it was their fault.

Except Tsuna _could_ do something.

"I'll do it!" The words spilled out, and already he was flinching at the thought of pain, but he wasn't going to take it back. He could take it – a few punches would draw out blood, and that was better than being set on fire. A lot better. "Yamamoto, Gokudera-kun, beat me up!"

It was really touching to Tsuna and meant a lot that both his friends were extremely reluctant to beat him up but given the five second time limit Birds gave them like an impatient kid demanding candy, it wasn't the best.

Before Tsuna repeated his request to beat him until he bled – by far the weirdest request he ever made – Bianchi beat them both to the punch. Literally.

"Lucky for me, getting a free shot in," she muttered, shaking out the hand she had used to punch him in the face. When her brother protested, she shrugged unrepentantly. "You might have forgotten, but I did come all the way here to kill him."

His face throbbed, but – not as much as it could. And if she had really wanted to kill him, or make it hurt, Bianchi had the ability to change things she touched into Poison Cooking.

It suddenly occurred to Tsuna that despite her habit of forcing Poison Cooking on others, Bianchi still had his back just like Gokudera and Yamamoto. That meant a lot to him, a lot more than he might have thought. "Thank you, Bianchi."

Birds, though, broke the moment, and Tsuna could have kicked himself for being stupid, of course he wasn't done. "Please stab Sawada-kun with this knife."

Tsuna was used to seeing kitchen knives. Despite their familiarity he was still of the opinion that those were blades, and therefore dangerous.

This knife was not a kitchen knife. It was a knife meant to stab, one that did not belong in the kitchen.

"Stab him," Birds ordered, and blood began to run down from his nostrils. Tsuna didn't worry for his health – only his own. "All the way through to the hilt. Or . . ."

This time, it was a bottle the twin hitmen held, one with a label. The camera couldn't show the writing on the bottles, but Birds wasn't one to use water to threaten someone with pain.

"Imagine just how much pain and shock those girls will be in," moaned Birds, wiping at the blood with a careless hand. "As they're splashed with sulfuric acid!"

It disgusted Tsuna, the sound he made, this man in general, the _situation_ , all of it, but greater than his disgust was his horror as the bottles, lids unscrewed, dangled at the ready to be thrown over the girls. Haru, speaking with animated hands, and Kyoko, leaning back on the bench, looked like they'd be the ones to be showered with acid, but he didn't think for one moment that it meant Hotaru or Hana would be safe. Hana, who was rolling her shoulder out, and Hotaru, who was frowning like she had just smelt something bad.

He might not have been the smartest person around, but even Tsuna knew what acid would do when it was splashed onto someone.

"Here's to their new lives," the hitman whispered, and the bottles began to tip. "Baptized by water that burns."

"Stop!" Tsuna shouted. "Stab me! With the knife or – or whatever, just stab me! Don't hurt them!"

The bottles stopped, over Kyoko and Haru's heads.

"Tsuna!"

"Tenth!"

Someone, _anyone_ , help them. The girls didn't deserve this, they weren't involved with it. If Gokudera could throw himself between Tsuna and the needles, and Yamamoto could take the injury to his arm, then this –

On the screen, as if his frantic shouting had been heard, Hotaru turned around, brows lightly furrowed in puzzlement. For one second, she stared at the twin killer that had been sent after her and Haru, and he stared back at her with eyes like black buttons, bottle still uncapped and ready to spill its dangerous contents over Haru's head at the slightest movements.

Horror spread across Hotaru's face, and she acted.

"Oh dear," said Birds in a sing-song as Hotaru shoved Haru and rushed the twin. Taken by surprise, Haru lost her balance and fell, out of the immediate splash zone.

The same couldn't be said for Hotaru, who wasn't strong enough to push the hitman back. She did, however, manage to jostle him off balance – and the content of the bottle spilled all over Hotaru's face and front.

Hotaru screamed and the sound, filled with pain and tears and terror, made Tsuna think that being stabbed might have honestly been better.

* * *

Haru was having a nightmare.

Never mind the pain from her knees, never mind the lack of sensations that came with actual dreams. Surely this monster in front of her, spindly limbs awkwardly held still like a statue wasn't real. Surely Hotaru wasn't on her knees, hands wrapped around her face, moaning in pain.

"Run, Haru," Hotaru moaned.

This couldn't be real, Haru's brain thought numbly. The empty bottle that had dropped from the spindly man's spider-like hands rolled towards her, and her eyes caught the label – sulfuric acid.

"You!" shouted a furious voice, and as if her dream had decided to add to the _unrealness_ of it all, a young woman in Chinese clothes – the martial arts kind, not the fancy dress kind – jumped between Hotaru and the monstrous skeleton. "What you've done is absolutely unforgivable!"

She began to fight the skeleton, using movements that belonged in an action movie, the kung-Fu kind. Haru nearly called out for her to be careful, but when the girl flitted like an untouchable butterfly around the man that was, like, twice her height, Haru shut her mouth and decided whoever she was, the mystery girl could handle it pretty well on her own.

Haru started when a hand landed on her shoulder. The hand withdrew immediately, and Haru saw a slightly familiar face with an apologetic look before her.

"Haru-san," said the pervert from last time. His shirt was still unbuttoned indecently. "We need to get you and Hotaru-san out of here."

Hotaru. Hotaru, who had pushed her – probably to get her out of the way. Hotaru, who was still moaning in pain.

Haru pinched herself as the man's eyes landed on the bottle, and he paled. "I'm so dead."

This, Haru realized with the sharp pain, was no dream.

She stopped denying it and dug into her bag for her water bottle. Always stay hydrated, that was important, but right now her water could be used for something more important than quenching thirsts.

Chemistry class safety measures.

"Hotaru-chan!"

Hotaru wouldn't move her hands away from her face, but Haru uncapped her water bottle and began to gently pour the water over her head, trying to get it to her face.

"We need to at least wash some of it off," Haru insisted, and Hotaru didn't say anything verbal per say, but she moaned something and didn't flinch or turn away, which Haru counted as a victory.

Acid. On her face.

 _Oh god_ , Haru thought, and she wanted to throw up because she had been told about jerks who threw acid on people's faces for the stupidest reasons like the girl not wanting to date the man. She just never thought it could happen to anyone she knew, let alone _Hotaru_.

Her hands were shaking badly, but she kept pouring the water until the bottle was empty. And with the water ran out the things that Haru could do. Her brain felt like it had been dipped in bleach – it was blank, and she didn't know what to do. "Hotaru-chan . . ."

What was going to happen? Hotaru was one of the prettiest people she knew, and it was Haru's fault that she was so badly hurt, because she didn't even notice someone that awkward come up behind them and – and –

How did one even make up for something like that?

"We need to get you to the hospital," she said urgently, because she could think about how Hotaru could hate her later, but right now they needed to get help fast. The faster the better. Right?

But Hotaru wouldn't move, and Haru was too scared to touch her, worried she would make it worse. If Hotaru hadn't shoved her aside then it would have been her splashed with acid and she couldn't even remember who this was or what she did to deserve the acid.

The perverted man who still had his shirt not fully buttoned knelt in front of them, and Haru tensed. He probably wasn't with the acid-throwing skeleton guy, but she didn't really know him well enough to say he wasn't the type to do such a thing.

"Hotaru-san," the perverted guy said. "I know about your healing."

Hotaru's shoulders went rigid and her moaning stopped. It was like she had stopped breathing, because the shock had gone straight to her brain and shoved the pain out of the way like a delinquent pushing around other students.

Haru was confused, but it got a reaction from Hotaru, so she decided to hold off on hitting the man on the back of his head with her bag and let him finish speaking.

"And I wanted to tell you that it's okay," he continued. "Haru-san won't ever think any less of you for it, and, well, a lady with a face like yours shouldn't be scarred by some no-name losers like that."

Haru couldn't help it. She looked at 'that' and found the Chinese girl had neatly folded up the man's joints like he was made of paper and knocked him unconscious. At least, Haru hoped he was unconscious. He was still on the ground and his eyes were closed, and Haru decided that he was probably unconscious and stopped paying attention to him. She had more important matters to attend to.

"Hotaru-chan," she said to her more important matters, because whatever this man was saying like he knew her and Hotaru, he was probably saying something important. "If there's anything you can do to stop hurting, then don't hold back because of me."

Hotaru had already gotten hurt because of Haru. If she had to suffer more pain because of Haru . . .

Her hands were covering her face, but there was no hiding the red, bleeding burns where the skin was peeling off from the neck, and the parts of her face Hotaru couldn't hide with her hands. Maybe the water had done something – Haru sure hoped so – but there was damage, and it looked so painful. Her skin was literally peeling off and she _had no right to say it,_ but it looked horrifying.

"Please," Haru begged. Coward that she was, she hoped Hotaru could do something, _anything_ that would make her feel less guilty. It would require something like a miracle, but Haru wished with all her heart that moment.

Hotaru whimpered, but then a miracle occurred. Soft white light began to shine on the places she was hurt – through her fingers, on the burn – and the wounds began to fade away, slowly but surely. It was like someone had taken a magical eraser and began to erase away her injuries.

Haru _stared_ , a part of her distantly aware that her jaw was hanging open in the most unladylike manner ever.

The man sighed in relief as the Chinese girl came in their direction.

"We're sorry we're late," apologized the girl, not at all looking like the same person who just kicked some serious jerk butt. Her hair was braided into two and curled into loops on both sides of her face. Something about her seemed familiar to Haru and she wasn't sure why.

Hotaru was still glowing, and the wounds were still going away. What the two strangers meant by being late, Haru wasn't sure, but that probably meant the skeleton guy wasn't a random psycho who went around hurting people for no reason.

"He's going to kill us," the man whispered, voice still loud enough for them to hear. "Even if she healed herself, he's so going to kill us."

"Who?" Haru asked, as she patted Hotaru's back. Also, Hotaru could heal herself. It was official – she was definitely a princess from a fairy tale, just like Haru had claimed all those years ago. She had so called it.

And Haru was a failure at being a knight. And a friend.

The Chinese girl ignored him and knelt in front of Hotaru. "Hotaru-n – Hotaru-san, can I see your wounds?"

Hotaru didn't budge her hands. The last of the wounds still visible disappeared and the lights dimmed out into nothing, leaving nothing but smooth, pale skin and wet, ruined clothes as the only proof of what had happened.

"Please," the girl requested. "We need to get you into new clothes, too, but I just want to see and make sure you're alright. We don't have much time, Hotaru-san."

Slowly, Hotaru took her hands away. Haru was incredibly relieved to find that her face was fine, the same as it had been before, with just her eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears.

"Hotaru-chan," Haru said, fumbling for her handkerchief. "You're crying – does it still hurt?"

She shook her head slowly, eyes wary as they were fixed on her. "You don't think this is weird?"

Haru blinked. Hotaru was worried. She had also just been attacked – with acid, which looked incredibly painful – and while she was healed, she had just been _attacked with acid while protecting Haru_.

And she – Tomoe Hotaru, smart girl with the best brains in the world – was worried about what _Haru_ thought after saving her from the acid.

There were so many things wrong with that, and Haru had no idea where to start, so she let her emotions take charge instead of thinking things through. She'd be the first to admit she usually jumped in heart first, head later, but still. Her heart demanded she speak up, and she belted out her thoughts immediately.

"Are you serious!?" she shouted, and Hotaru flinched. Oops, volume control. "Do I think it's _weird_?! We were just attacked by a skeleton throwing acid and you saved my life and got hurt and _that's_ what you're worried about?!"

Hotaru still looked unsure and Haru really hated that skeleton man.

"You're not the one throwing acid at me for no reason so _no_! I _don't_ think that's weird!" So there.

Acid. Haru felt sick because that acid had been meant for her, and if Hotaru hadn't noticed first and pushed her out of the way –

She shuddered, and then burst into tears. "I thought _you_ would hate _me_!"

Hotaru hurried to pull her into a hug. "I'd never hate you."

Her friend always knew the best things to say, but right now it also happened to be one of the worst things, because it made Haru feel even more terrible a human being.

"B-but it was my fault and he threw acid at you – who throws acid at girls, that's such a mean thing to do, like pure evil, who even _does_ that?" Haru wasn't even sure what she was blubbering out, she was just relieved that Hotaru didn't hate her and it was all spilling out.

"Who even," Hotaru repeated in an agreeing tone, rocking her slowly. "It's okay, it's not your fault, and I've had worse."

Okay what.

Haru pulled away and gave her a disbelieving look through her tears. That wasn't even remotely as reassuring as Hotaru had probably intended. It wasn't reassuring at all. It was the exact opposite of reassuring, it disturbed her even further. Haru couldn't think of anything worse than getting acid thrown on her face right now, and sure, her brain was a little scrambled, but _acid on face_. "What."

Hotaru winced, and it was clear she hadn't meant to say that last bit, which meant Haru was totally going to be grilling her later.

Later.

"Let's go home," Hotaru suggested instead, gesturing to her clothes, wet and destroyed and stained in blood-tinged water, and Haru saw just why the science teacher had given them a long talk about safety measures in lab.

Yes, a change of clothes was absolutely what Hotaru needed right now. Haru glanced around, and the duo were gone. That was a shame, she had been hoping to steal the man's shirt for Hotaru. She did, however, see I-Pin and Lambo, back from wherever they had disappeared to.

"Lambo-chan, I-Pin-chan!" she called, a little relieved that they hadn't been caught up in the acid-throwing attacks as well. She'd nearly forgotten about them, in all the panic. "Let's go back!"

"We can go to my home," Hotaru suggested, holding the destroyed part of her clothes together to preserve her modesty. Haru pulled off her sweater vest and handed it to Hotaru, who took it and nodded in gratitude before pulling it on. "We have cake."

"Cake!" chorused the children.

Hotaru caught her eye and smiled nervously, and Haru nearly cried again. A hero shouldn't have had to look at the friend she just saved with eyes full of fear, like a scared animal flinching at a sudden movement.

"Thank you," she said instead. Hotaru's eyes widened, before they curved in a smile.

Above their heads, the yellow birds chirped.

* * *

Birds was the kind who gave orders but didn't fight himself. That was obvious in his slight stature and his use of hostages to force their hand.

With the hostages safe from him, he was powerless. One hit from the Tenth was enough to knock him out cleanly. It was both impressive of the Tenth, and pathetic of Birds.

Speaking of hostages . . .

On the screen to the right, Shamal took down the other hitman without a single outward attack. Normally, Hayato might have been impressed. For all his womanizing ways, Shamal was still talented, and still a goal of sorts for him to reach.

The other screen, though, was the problem. Tomoe had, for some reason, turned and seen the other twin. She pushed Haru out of harm's way, but in the process got attacked herself. I-Pin and the dumb cow's older selves were there, but . . .

Hayato grimaced. Acid attacks were meant to be painful, to say the least, but more than that, it was sometimes to send a message. Back in Italy, a journalist got too deep digging into a local gang, and rather than kill the journalist, she had acid thrown on her face in broad daylight. She survived, but the message, in her burns and scars, had been sent. Until the Vongola stepped in and ended the gang's despotic activities, they continued to sell drugs and kill people in the area without a concern for anyone investigating them.

He didn't really care about Tomoe. She was better than her friends, by virtue of being quiet, not annoying and not a baseball brain, but that was about it. An acquaintance. Not someone he disliked, but not someone he liked, either. Someone he could tolerate.

But he wouldn't have wished that on her.

The Tenth stared at the screen, face as bloodless as the dead. Bianchi, behind her goggles, looked horrified, and Yamamoto –

It was an unfamiliar expression on Yamamoto's face. The idiot was usually smiling happily, lax to a fault. Living life with everything given to him, not knowing what it was like to fight for his life, or to have a light so precious that it meant everything and more.

Right now, there was none of his dumb grins. If Hayato ever saw someone with an expression like that in a dark alley, he would have prepared to fight for his life.

" _Hotaru-san_ ," the dumb cow said on screen, voice slightly tinny as it came through on the speakers. " _I know about your healing_."

Yamamoto's eyes got wider, and the face of someone dangerous turned into a worried, stunned boy.

And, as Hayato saw what happened next, for good reason. The light faded away after a torturously long minute and slowly, Tomoe removed her hands from her face. Her unblemished, unscarred, unhurt face.

In that moment, Hayato realized what Tomoe Hotaru was – why she hadn't been as annoying as everyone else except the Tenth. She was an UMA. One that was scared, now that she'd been revealed. Hayato thought that with her powers she might be a boon to the Vongola, especially in emergencies where the Tenth was injured, but she also became close to the Tenth through the baseball brain and the loud woman.

What happened if they rejected her?

 _"Are you serious!?"_ Haru shouted before his imagination could go to dark places. _"Do I think it's_ weird _?! We were just attacked by a skeleton throwing acid and you saved my life and got hurt and that's what you're worried about?! You're not the one throwing acid at me for no reason so_ no _! I_ don't _think that's weird!"_

Then she burst into tears. " _I thought_ you _would hate_ me!"

Hayato exhaled with relief.

"Wha-" his boss gawked before turning to Reborn. The world's greatest hitman was awake now, and frowning, dark eyes fixed on Tomoe Hotaru. "What was that?"

"I didn't expect that," murmured Reborn. "Yamamoto, that's why your arm healed so quickly back when you fell from the school roof, wasn't it?"

Before the baseball brain could answer, Tomoe tried to appease Haru. " _It's okay, it's not your fault, and I've had worse_."

There were two reactions to that, at least on their side. The Tenth and Yamamoto looked stricken with concern that she had 'worse'. Worry, for a friend having known pain.

And then, the reaction that he and Reborn and Bianchi had – worry, but for a slightly different reason.

What, exactly, was the 'worse' she had, and why? Because a regular civilian didn't know what 'worse than an acid attack' felt like. A regular civilian didn't _have_ powers like that.

Whatever her backstory was, the UMA that was Tomoe Hotaru had an important secret.

"Didn't expect -" the Tenth sputtered. "Okay, but what about the other hitmen? The girl with the instrument and Birds and the Twins?"

"Prisoners who broke out with Rokudo Mukuro. We didn't make the connection immediately. That's not important right now."

"He's right," said Bianchi before Hayato's boss could protest. "Quit hiding and show yourself."

Hayato readied his bombs, expecting another opponent to fight – maybe Rokudo Mukuro himself, this time.

"Wa-wait," said a weak, child-like voice, and from behind the trees of the overgrown forest in these ruins Futa's small build peeked out. "It's me."

* * *

AN: Originally this was probably going to come out with the next FEH Banner I really wanted, but then the amazing w0nd3rl3i/wond3rl3i was like 'hey I drew you fanart for Saturnine' (I paraphrase) and I was like 'I MUST BRAG ABOUT THIS TO EVERYONE I CAN' (that's a direct quote) and that's why there's an early update.

(With that being said, the timing of the fanart that made me update and the content of the chapter is... I feel like Saturnine!Mukuro would probably try to murder Petrichor!Mukuro)

Huinari's favorite sailor soldier: Tomoe Hotaru

Huinari's treatment of said favorite: dump acid on her

Readers: WTF

In my defense, I DID warn readers to not hate me back in the AN for Interlude II (readers: yes, but we thought that was because you said Saturnine wasn't canon).

Reborn and Bianchi are guessing that she gained those powers via experimentation or was experimented on/abused because of those powers. Gokudera thinks that she's an alien and that's why she has those powers. They're all correct, technically.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

TL; DR from Hotaru's POV, who was probably the least worried person involved other than her fear of Haru being scared of her:

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Tsuna: 'oh no I wish something would protect the girls don't let them be hurt!'

Hotaru: *second most powerful being in the solar system and one of its protectors* 'I feel like someone just called – what is that?!' *Pushes Haru out of the way* *exerts Saturn's power*

Twin: *freezes in fear* *grip loosens* *accidentally drops bottle when Hotaru shoves him*

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Hotaru: In hindsight I feel stupid for not trusting Haru to, you know, be Haru.

Haru: You should be. And speaking of which what did you mean by 'I've had worse'?

Hotaru *sweating and averting eyes* umm….

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	37. Kokuyo IV

For someone with shorter legs than he had, Futa was very good at running away. The uneven ground – made so by twisting, curling tree roots not quite fully under the cover of dirt where roots should be – and the overgrown trees didn't help things at all, either.

In Tsuna's defense, that was why he tripped, and why he nearly had a heart attack when he saw the Kokuyo student right before him where he would have sworn no one had been before.

He wasn't a hitman, though – instead of attacking outright or threatening, he smiled brightly once the initial surprise wore off.

"You're here to help us, aren't you?" asked the boy. He was taller than Tsuna, maybe around Yamamoto's height, and had dark navy hair shaped, oddly enough, in a way that reminded Tsuna of a pineapple.

And, despite the Kokuyo uniform and the camouflage shirt under the jacket, he looked very relieved.

"Oh wow, we're saved," he said, a hand pressed to his heart. "I thought I'd never get out of here alive."

All the hitmen that came after them so far had been wearing the Kokuyo uniform. Uniforms didn't just grow on trees, which meant they had to come from somewhere.

Or in this case, some _one_.

The tall boy looked so relieved that Tsuna felt terrible for not being able to give him a definitive answer. Or just not being someone better that could actually help, or know what to say in a situation like this.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," Tsuna apologized, even if he hadn't known there was anyone captive other than Futa. Speaking of Futa. "We're, um, still in the middle of the rescue, though."

"O-oh, excuse me for making assumptions," the Kokuyo guy said shyly. "But still, I'm really grateful that you came all this way to rescue us."

Tsuna hurried to reassure him that it was no problem. Despite the piercings, the casual disarrayed way he wore his uniform and the Kokuyo uniform itself, it looked like this boy was an honest, nice person.

He hadn't known about him being held here, but Tsuna was relieved that he hadn't been too late.

The Kokuyo boy drew his brows together in worry. "But – you didn't come alone, did you? It's dangerous."

He wasn't kidding. Tsuna still had a headache from everything that happened this day, and if he thought about it the headache was going to get so much worse. Right now his mind was working into overdrive to shove all the memories away in an effort to give himself protective amnesia. His future self could deal with the repercussions and sorting out the mess. "Ah, um, no. A few friends came with me, too."

"That's brave of you all. Are they all Namimori students, too?"

"Um-," his head throbbed. "No. Just two – but don't worry, one of them is an older girl who's strong, and the other is-" a sadistic baby that was, somehow, his violent, mafia-promoting, incredibly weird home tutor, and could there ever have been a phrase with so many different words that were so wrong together? "Well, he's here too. But, hey, um, have you seen a boy, like, around this tall? He was just running ahead of me, and-"

"I'm the one asking questions right now."

Tsuna froze. The Kokuyo student still spoke politely, as if he was pointing out a mistake Tsuna made, but the change in tone was there, a difference, like something had been dropped, and a hidden truth uncovered.

The hair covering his right eye shifted, and Tsuna realized just now that his eyes were different colors. The one he'd seen so far was a dark color, but the newly revealed one was a blazing red, one Tsuna didn't dare stare at for longer, and not just because staring into a stranger's eye would be rude.

"This baby you mentioned," he pressed, the light in his eyes shifting ominously. "What is he capable of doing indirectly?"

A part of him wanted to answer. The part of him that wanted to shy away from the gaze of the red eye didn't. The latter part also happened to be telling him he should flee. Like, right now. No rational explanation to the feeling, just – he needed to get out of there now.

The latter part won without much of a fight.

Tsuna fled, shouting something about needing to find his friends as an excuse. He wasn't sure what exactly he yelled, because what was more important was getting out of here and joining up with his friends.

He didn't dare look back, but he felt that the boy was still there, double-colored gaze piercing into his back through all the trees, and his heart pounded loud enough to fill his head like it was the only sound in the world.

That feeling of unsettlement was probably what made Tsuna do such a Lambo-esque thing and yell a challenge at Rokudo Mukuro when he saw Yamamoto unconscious and Bianchi standing against him, two dishes of Poison Cooking her only shield against a massive metal ball that couldn't be for a friendly game.

He panicked, but not for long. There was no time to do that, not when the giant metal ball was hurling like a storm towards Bianchi – and strong as she was, armed with Poison Cooking in both her hands, that ball was fast, fast enough to create a whirlwind in and around its path, and the Poison Cooking was being ripped off the plates by the wind pressure, like bits of food being washed away under the tap and going down the drain –

And she couldn't even dodge because behind her, Yamamoto was unconscious and vulnerable, slumped under a tree and battered, and she was the last line of defense for him. Even if she repeated what she did with M.M., she was still going to be seriously hurt in the process, and this weapon didn't require contact with the mouth to be used.

When the loud sound of the gunshot reached his ears, there was already a fire beginning to burn at his brows, and he was no longer where he'd been standing, on the edge of the woods.

He was where he needed, wanted to be – in front of Bianchi, between her and the iron ball that had been stopped between his hands.

"Rokudo Mukuro," Tsuna declared, as his clothes were shed like the leaves of trees in autumn. "I'll take you down with my Dying Will!"

In response the man with two tattoos retrieved the ball with a yank of the chain and began to swing it until its rotations were a blur, and a menacing sound of metal cutting through air filled the distance between them. The next time the ball was thrown, almost fired out like a bullet, Tsuna ducked and darted under the ball and dashed towards Mukuro. Busy controlling his weapon, he didn't see Tsuna until he was flying towards his chin, one arm extended out in a fist to face greeting.

Rokudo Mukuro almost flew into the air, but Tsuna hadn't hit him that hard, to send him flying. He had jumped with the momentum, and the chain he still held, and the heavy weight of the ball, straightened him out midair.

And he immediately struck the ball with both hands to take full advantage of the height difference.

"Hija-Reppa!"

Tsuna's arms, held before his face, kept the ball from crushing him, but couldn't stop him from being forced back. The friction between the ground and his soles was hot and painful, but not nearly as much as the strain his arms and shoulders were going through. The air currents, like snakes, lashed out around and at him.

Mukuro had struck the iron ball with an incredible amount of power, enough that there was still spin left in the ball.

No point in trying to get the ball to come to a complete stop like he did last time. Mukuro would only use the chain to get the ball back under his control. Tsuna roared, more wordless beast than a human, and heaved with all his might to strike the ball back towards the still-airborne Mukuro, who couldn't dodge and crashed into the building far behind him from the momentum.

"You did it." Bianchi dropped the remnants of her Poison Cooking in relief. She had probably intended to strike Mukuro if there had been any openings, but he'd kept himself too guarded on that front for her to try anything. His focus being diverted towards her had let Tsuna strike, so in the end the Poison Cooking hissing and smoking in the dirt had been helpful.

Something he never thought he'd ever think. The smell was making him sick even now.

"We can go back to Namimori now," said Reborn, when the loud clang of the metal ball drew their attention.

It could have been the ball rolling off or moving due to balance issues or gravity or something giving way.

Or, it could have been that the man who was thrown back with it still looked ready to fight.

"No more playing with balls," he said coolly, and tossed the metal ball far up into the sky, like it weighed less than a baseball.

While the massive weapon fought the laws of gravity in its flight, Rokudo Mukuro rushed him, and in the blink of an eye he was there, a fist flying in a blur.

"My specialty-" he grunted as he struck Tsuna, breaking the guard he raised instinctively with a single blow, "is hand-to-hand combat!"

A knee kick to the face nearly knocked him unconscious, and Tsuna almost flew backwards.

Almost. A hard hand grabbed him by his neck and slammed him into the ground. Tsuna felt his back break the ground and create a crater, and above his head, the metal ball that lost its fight with gravity was beginning to fall. It would land on top of him, and combined with the weight and the momentum, he would be crushed.

Mukuro, rather than deal the finishing blow with his own hand, instead closed his eyes and turned away, as if he was a mourner in silent tribute at a funeral.

That was his mistake – to act as if Tsuna was dead already.

Because Tsuna was alive, and rather than die, he was going to use that energy to fight to live. To win.

He caught the ball, despite its heavy weight, and didn't let it crush him to death. The weight still threatened to do that, so he did the only thing he could do to fight that fate and shoved the ball aside and rested his arm on the grooved surface.

"Impossible," breathed Mukuro. "What kind of a monster . . . ."

His nose was bleeding, his face was swollen, and his entire body, though pumped up on adrenaline, would be seriously sore as soon as he relaxed.

And yet the first thing he had to choose to do was say something.

"You're not that evil a person," Tsuna said through a bloody mouth. He swallowed, because the saliva and blood were making him mumble.

But Mukuro had sharp ears, and it seemed that the words struck something within him. "What did you say?"

"That weak will of yours," he said slowly, words clearer now. "Could never defeat my Dying Will."

A storm brewed over his face, an earthquake rippled in his eyes, and Mukuro snarled like thunder in the distance. "'Will'? Don't speak of things you don't understand – you know nothing about me! Killing you _is_ my will!"

It was a frustrated shout, an emotional scream dragged up from the gut and heart, and Tsuna didn't believe his words at all. "You're lying!"

Roaring at each other, they swung their fists towards each other. His previously sharp, focused, deadly blows were no more. Shaken at the core, affected by Tsuna's words, Mukuro's swing was wild, predictable, and most importantly – not fast or strong enough.

In a battle of resolves, with one side as shaken as Mukuro's was, and Tsuna fighting with the Dying Will, there was no competition.

Before Mukuro could hit him, Tsuna struck first, small size landing a blow on the center of his torso. With the dull sound of something breaking, Rokudo Mukuro coughed up blood, and his knee collapsed, unable to support the rest of the body in a standing position.

"How . . ." rasped Mukuro, blood wetting his words like Tsuna's had been, just moments ago. "How could I lose . . .?"

There wasn't any attachment towards victory in his voice, just stunned surprise. And that was the difference in their wills for this fight, because if the situation had been reversed Tsuna wouldn't do what he was doing right now.

"When you attacked, you closed your eye, and you didn't let your iron ball complete the finishing blow," Tsuna said. That was what had been odd about the way Rokudo Mukuro fought – the hesitation, the reluctance.

The guilt, causing conflict within his heart.

The Flame began to fizzle out, but Tsuna couldn't stop speaking, because he had to get the words out. "I thought it was strange, the first time I saw you. It felt more like – like this kid we have at home. I didn't feel any fear towards you."

It was weird, that seeing a tall man swinging a weapon as large as that towards him wouldn't strike fear within him, but it was true. Once Mukuro was attacking Tsuna, not his friends, there wasn't the same feeling of being threatened.

Tsuna didn't mean it as an insult, but the amount of fear he felt towards him was about the same he had towards Lambo. It was a contradiction he saw, between the person responsible for the mess going on in Namimori – attacking innocent student to get to him, hiring people like Birds and the Twins – and the person he fought.

Like how Lambo threw around grenades and said he was going to kill Reborn, but there was no real malice behind his actions. A mess, sure. A lot of chaos? Oh yeah.

Malice, though?

No.

And that was the same here.

Mukuro's eyes widened in surprise, but then, slowly, like spring melting the last of winter's snow, his lips curved into a faint, awkward smile, like he was trying it after a very long time and found it rusty.

Despite the clumsy attempt, it was genuine, and reached his eyes to light them softly.

"I admit defeat," he said, a relief filling him where there was once guilt, light where there was once a pit of emptiness. "No wonder Rokudo Mukuro is cautious about you."

Tsuna blinked.

"What?" Maybe his ears had broken during the fight. Maybe he just liked referring to himself in the third person. His heart stuttered in surprise. "Wait, you're Rokudo Mukuro, aren't you?"

But even as he asked, Tsuna felt his instincts deny that, and it didn't fit, the story Reborn told him and the man he saw with his eyes right now –

"I'm a fake," confirmed his former opponent.

Except, as he explained how he had come to be the fake Rokudo Mukuro, Tsuna realized with dawning horror that he was more than just a fake, he was a victim. It was more than just beating up students from his school that Rokudo Mukuro was guilty of, it was so much more.

"That's not something a human could do," Tsuna mumbled. That wasn't something anyone should have had to undergo. That wasn't something anyone should do to anyone.

All that – for what?

"Listen to me, Vongola," said the man, urgency stained with pain and exhaustion. His breath was heavy, but there was a greater will to him now, to push himself to continue speaking through his injuries, than there had been when they were fighting. "Mukuro's real objective is – _move_!"

A hard shove to his chest threw Tsuna off his balance, and he landed hard on his butt. The pain that shot through his spinal cord nearly blinded his sight for a moment with tears, but he still saw a black blur move above him.

Not threateningly – but protectively.

When his sight cleared, the man collapsed onto his back, dropping like a lifeless body. On his left chest and shoulders, needles pierced his skin – needles that would have hit Tsuna, if he hadn't pushed Tsuna out of the way and covered him with his own body.

For the second time today, someone pushed him out of becoming a dead hedgehog in exchange for becoming injured.

"Are you alright?!" That Tsuna couldn't even call the name of the person who saved him at risk of his own life was even worse.

There was still breath in him, but the words he spoke were faint. "What a terrible life I've had . . . ."

This wasn't right. This wasn't how he should go, used as a killing machine and controlled to do terrible things until his use ran out and he was disposed of. This wasn't fair.

But there was nothing Tsuna could do, except –

"Tell me your name! Your real name!"

For a moment it looked like he would never know the man who had everything, even his name stolen from him, but his lips moved. ". . . Lancia . . ."

It was a foreign name, of course, but Tsuna called it, the only thing he could ask of the man who saved his life when he was in a far worse situation. "Hang on, Lancia-san!"

Mumbling something in Italian, Lancia smiled faintly, and his eye slid shut.

* * *

There was still something to be said about the acumen of the Vongola Nono, Mukuro considered, in that liminal state where he had two perspectives – from his own body, hidden in the shadows behind a faint illusion, and from the eyes of Futa de la Stella, who he was controlling. Such an odd, overlapping perspective would have led to insanity for some, but for Mukuro it was manageable.

(It was a little too late to be careful about madness, anyways.)

For all that Sawada Tsunayoshi seemed a meek, powerless civilian boy, he had proven he wasn't by fighting Lancia and surviving. If raw power wouldn't do the job, then a different approach would be better.

Mukuro moved the ranking prince's body and stabbed the Poison Scorpion, completing the contract. The look of deep relief on the Vongola Decimo's face quickly changed to that of horror and disbelief.

It was almost amusing, he thought, watching Sawada Tsunayoshi duck and dodge the trident's tips while still wearing the same look.

"What's wrong with you?!" he pleaded to a puppet attacking him. "Put that down, it's dangerous!"

Yes, he did have to admit he had been wrong in his assumptions. This boy was nowhere near the cruel, heartless monster he'd expected.

The admission, made only to himself, changed nothing. At the end of the day it didn't matter, what kind of a person Sawada Tsunayoshi was.

He was still a human, still a part of the filth that was the mafia, still a part of this world that was the worst of all the hells.

There were no exceptions.

"His mind is being controlled," the Arcobaleno said.

That meant little to Sawada Tsunayoshi, and perhaps he didn't fully understand the implications. He continued to plead to Futa, though this time he begged the boy to 'wake up'. As if it was such an easy thing to do, breaking free from his control, from Hell.

The Arcobaleno stepped in, acting as indirectly as the Vongola Decimo had said, and pushed the whip he used to pull his student out of the way into his hands.

"Do whatever you want," he said in reply to his student's shouting. "If you don't fight, you'll die."

Like how the sisters of the little mermaid pushed the dagger into the doomed woman's hands and told her how she could preserve her life at the blood of the callous man's, the Arcobaleno told the student he should turn the whip on the poor child whose only crime was being useful.

And the youngest princess raised the dagger but threw it aside at the last moment, unable to stab the sleeping prince.

"My opponent is Futa! How could I possibly fight him?!"

In the fairy tale, the mermaid chose to throw the dagger and herself into the ocean, just as the sun rose and turned her into seafoam.

This was reality, where the concept of self-sacrifice for something like love belonged in fairy tales. If push came to shove, and his life was truly threatened, what would the former civilian choose?

What was his price, to struggle to keep hold of the worthless thing that was his life?

Mukuro chuckled and asked, genuinely curious. "What will you do now, Vongola Decimo?"

His words seemed to strike something in him – and Sawada Tsunayoshi, whip in hand in a way that suggested he had no idea how to wield it properly, rushed towards Mukuro.

Not bad, but not enough. Futa's body moved under his command, chasing after Sawada Tsunayoshi. The chase lit him up with more determination, and with a determined cry he swung the whip towards Mukuro.

From the first move, even as someone who didn't use the whip as a weapon, Mukuro could see the inevitable failure. Somehow, almost impressively, Sawada Tsunayoshi ended up striking himself in the eye, wrapping up his legs, and falling over like a scene in some slapstick comedy.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" And he was, truly. Mukuro would give him that.

It just wouldn't be enough, in the end. "Watch out, behind you."

Futa de la Stella's body was also tangled up by the whip, perhaps proving that good and bad luck came hand in hand. It restricted the movement of his body, but if one couldn't walk, crawling was also a possibility.

The ranking prince grabbed the trident and raised it over his head to stab the Vongola Decimo, a hero in a world written as repeating tragedies.

Rather than dodge, or attack, or even scream, he did something unexpected.

"It's not your fault."

Sawada Tsunayoshi's voice was no longer panicked. It was still worried, and disgustingly so, but it was heartfelt. Mukuro focused the ranking prince's sight on his face, and found no trace of falsehood in it. Sawada Tsunayoshi truly meant what he said – that it wasn't the ranking prince's fault.

And Futa de la Stella, physically weak but mentally determined enough to close off a part of his heart from even Mukuro's reach, froze.

The vision he saw through the perspective of the Ranking Prince wavered, like a reflection on the surface of water being broken by the toss of a stone.

"None of it is your fault," the Vongola Decimo continued, not even raising a hand to take advantage of the enemy's frozen state. "We're all on Futa's side. You don't have to worry about a thing. Come back home with us."

(What pretty words – as if there was anyone in this world that was free of fault or sin.)

Through the wavering, broken vision of two different and not-fully-stable viewpoints merged together Mukuro saw the ranking prince grabbing at his head with the hand not clutching the trident, and the action was not something Mukuro ordered.

In the clash of wills, Mukuro had lost. He released Futa de la Stella from his control, and whatever composure had seized the Vongola Decimo evaporated as the young boy collapsed and fell unconscious. It could also have been the blood from his nose and ears that pushed him into panic.

"I believe he hasn't slept at all in these last few days," Mukuro recounted, as his vision cleared. If anything, there was the due respect he had to pay to the boy. Fragile in body, but not in heart. Mukuro of all people knew just how difficult such a feat like the one he accomplished was.

He would pay that respect by letting Sawada Tsunayoshi know of Futa de la Stella's devotion to him shortly before he possessed his body.

"We came to Japan to find the whereabouts of the Vongola Decimo but lacked a specific location."

And all of Japan was too big a place to search from top to bottom without a clue.

How fortuitous for them, then, that they also learned of the ranking prince's whereabouts as well. The ranking prince had no associated family, because by the nature of his powers he was too wanted, but also too dangerous. Being seen with the Vongola's men meant the young merchant of information had at last chosen a place to control him.

And with the Vongola holding his reins, Futa de la Stella would have information about them by the necessary closeness.

Mukuro was correct. Futa de la Stella did have information about the Vongola Decimo. The payload, however, was beyond reach now and forever because he was far more loyal than Mukuro had expected.

"We caught him, but he invoked the _omertà_ and refused to speak, even going to the length of closing off his heart and losing his ranking abilities."

Admirable. But, at the end of the day, not enough to stop him. If one path was blocked, then he would simply have to go through whatever tried to stop him or make another way.

(Six paths and yet not even one led outside of an abyss of despair, the hells that existed in this wretched cycle.)

"Our plan was a success," he said. "The Vongola Decimo, here right before me, is proof of that."

"How could you do this to Futa . . .?" The Vongola Decimo didn't seem interested in any of the devotion or the plan Mukuro explained to him. His focus was on one thing, as he finally turned around to face him.

"Rokudo Mukuro!" he shouted. "What do you think people are?!"

He wasn't really in the mood for a philosophical discussion explaining to Sawada Tsunayoshi the wretched evils of mankind's very nature. He didn't expect for someone who didn't know true suffering to ever see past the false blanket of security he had grown accustomed to, not until the Maginot Line was broken by the harsh assault of reality, the reality that was actual hell.

(How many times had he died on that cold, sterile table, the metal surface dirtied only by his own blood? How many times had he seen the glimpses of hell, known things of lives that was not his own until he was lost?

Six? Only six?

No. _One_ was too many times to go through such a thing, and six –

Six was enough to create a monster who didn't see a difference between hell and reality, because they were one and the same.

Enlightened _to_ , not _from_ suffering, Rokudo Mukuro was born from the corpse that had walked the six paths, and he knew the truth – that humans, and the path of humans, made up the worst hell.

The right eye that could call up the hell he'd seen for himself, the power he gained after his repeated trips to Hades, was proof of that.)

A simple answer, then.

"Toys, I suppose." Not that he had much experience playing with actual toys, but Mukuro assumed that was the approximate feeling he had towards others. It would be for the best if those that he used weren't broken, but if they were, then they could be replaced. One day, when he was ready, he would have no more need of them and discard his toys.

Simple.

"Damn you, you bastard!"

Time for the invasion to breach the Maginot Line, then.

Slipping into the path of the Asura, Mukuro met the Vongola Decimo's attack with his own.

A mere human could never hope to last against the assault of a battle-hungry asura. Sawada Tsunayoshi fell to his knees, clutching at his wounded body, confused on what had caused him all the pain and injuries in one single moment.

"What's the matter?" Mukuro asked slowly, as if he didn't know perfectly well why.

But cursed to be infants as they were, the Arcobaleno were truly impressive, and no mere humans. "He unleashed an onslaught of strikes the instant he passed by you."

"Very good, Arcobaleno," praised Mukuro, picking up the three-pronged spearhead and attaching it to the pole, completing his trident. "That's exactly it."

Feeling magnanimous, Mukuro explained to the boy that could see the aura in his right eye. "This is the aura of the fourth path, the realm of the Asuras. It gives me great skill in hand-to-hand combat."

"The path . . . of Asuras?"

Perhaps it was too much to expect for him to keep up. "Do you know of the six paths of reincarnation?"

The lack of recognition in his future puppet didn't disappoint him, or please him. What was he supposed to have felt, if he expected nothing from the start?

The Arcobaleno, however, answered. "The cycle of death and rebirth, you mean? The realms of hell, hungry ghosts, beasts, asuras, humans and devas."

"Correct. As with all souls in the cycle of death and rebirth, mine has been through all six. The difference is that unlike most, I have all six paths of Hades engraved into my memory."

(Painstakingly carved into him, into his skin and veins and bones. The memory of his deaths that melted together in the inferno of hell flames, the living proof that life was worthless, that humanity was vile and hellish.)

"What . . . are you saying?"

It was neither fortunate nor unfortunate that intelligence wasn't a field Mukuro required of his soon-to-be flesh suit. If he was intelligent enough to understand, the horror was realized as soon as Mukuro spoke. If not, Mukuro could spare the patience to explain and watch the horror dawn on his face.

Both were fine options that would eclipse the light of hope in his eyes with despair.

"If that's true," said the cursed baby, somber as the clothes he wore. "Then you really are a monster."

His mentor was a little better than Sawada Tsunayoshi himself was, in that regard, even if a little hypocritical. "You're in no position to talk of monsters, cursed baby of the Arcobaleno."

(But he did not deny it. He was, after all, the monster in the most terrible of all the hells, about to cleanse it with blood and fire.)

* * *

AN: Mukuro is one of the two edgy characters that's difficult to write and the whole time I thought my hands were going to shrivel up.

Originally my plan was to have Mukuro have remembered five previous lives, with this one being the sixth, like I did with Saturnine. The other five lives would have been short and miserable and painful and he wouldn't have remembered much from them except that he died in suffering.

But then I decided I wanted to take it a different way.

So here instead of having been a beast, a hungry ghost, a deva, a soul in hell, and an asura or whatever, Mukuro is a human guy who has been through experiments, with fragmented but traumatic memories of having seen the different parts of the samsara. Essentially while he was on the table, the experiments and the near-death experiences pushed his soul into 'flashes' of its past, and got him to witness the samsara / six realms. Through the experiments of the Estraneo he nearly died six times, and on the sixth 'revival' his powers came to be, and he massacred the Estraneo, hence, 'six lives'.

It's like in shows when people on the surgical table or in a coma are having the dream where they see their dead loved ones (wife, father, friend, whatever) and they talk and are healed, before the loved one tells them to go towards the light or get on the train or leave the otherwise empty movie theatre where they just saw their life because it's not yet time for the protag to join them, and then their heart starts beating again or they wake up. Except with Mukuro it wasn't nearly as nice an experience, and it was just as bad when he was resuscitated.

TL; DR: Mukuro doesn't remember 'six lives', per say. He remembers some but not all memories from his previous lives, mostly of suffering, and glimpses into hell, but he nearly died (did die, in a way) five times, and was revived six times. That was more than enough to change his sense of identity forever. Whoever the quiet boy before the experiments was, he does not exist now.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	38. Kokuyo V

A few of his bones were broken. Nothing that would keep him from moving but a bother, nonetheless. After he finished biting those responsible to death, he would have to go to the hospital and get them fixed.

 _After_.

The short amount of time it took to teach the bird Namimori Middle's school anthem was all Kyoya needed to recover. Not fully, but enough that he would be able to fight.

The dynamite that was banned from Namimori Middle broke the wall, saving him the bother of knocking it down himself.

But it was loud.

"The only guy who'd love our school's lame anthem," said the loud herbivore with the dynamite between bloody chuckles, though he grimaced when his eyes landed on Kyoya.

"Don't you look well," he muttered.

Kyoya didn't want to hear it from the one who looked like he'd been minced for hamburger meat. He was sprawled on the ground, bloodied and unable to move anything except his eyes and mouth.

And unsightly as he was, he still threw the dynamite to knock down the wall between Kyoya and those he would soon bite to death.

"I could have gotten out on my own," he replied, standing. A little pain, but nothing that would dare hinder him. "But never mind."

While they weren't Rokudo Mukuro, the two before him in Kokuyo's uniforms were still guilty. Attacking students of Namimori Middle and crowding.

Both were unforgivable by his standards, and there was only one punishment fit for them. Kyoya promptly carried it out by biting them to death. There was immense satisfaction in seeing them fall, bitten.

Not enough, however, to keep him satisfied, or his demanding pride sated. Never enough, because the day he stopped fighting was the day he died, but especially not now.

Once they were both disposed of and the medication for that ridiculous disease administered, Kyoya looked over the herbivore who wouldn't be able to move on his own. His assistance wasn't needed, but at the same time he had benefited from it.

And Hibari Kyoya did not leave debts unpaid.

Hospital after he bit Rokudo Mukuro to death, but also a long bath and time alone. His brother and Tetsu would carry out his will while he relaxed. His family and maybe the bird could visit, but unless Namimori was under further attack that was it.

Supporting the smoker's weight with his right side, because the left had less broken bones and needed to support them both, Kyoya headed up the stairs.

It wasn't hard figuring out where Rokudo Mukuro was in this abandoned building. All Kyoya had to do was follow the loud noise, and there he was, the man who would soon become what his name said he was.

The herbivore began to light the dynamite, but Kyoya had eyes for one person. He threw a tonfa, and with deadly speed and accuracy it hurtled towards the target's head.

A pity that Rokudo Mukuro noticed and knocked it aside at the last moment with his trident.

A moment later, the smoker shouted to the herbivore with the baby. "Tenth! Please take cover!"

Right into his ear. This was why he hated people.

The dynamite he threw exploded around the cringing herbivore, protecting him from the snakes surrounding him.

If he could throw dynamite like that, Kyoya reasoned, he was fine.

"Now we're even," said Kyoya, as he released the herbivore's goon and let him fall to the ground. He was tired, his bones were broken, but never had he wanted to bite someone to death as he did right now that despicable man.

He picked up the tonfa that had been knocked away – closer to him than his intended target, but that was fine. Soon it would sink into Rokudo Mukuro, over and over again.

A tonfa in each hand, and Kyoya was ready. The wounds, the exhaustion – nothing mattered.

Until today, until the battle earlier on, fighting was 'easy' for Kyoya, and victory 'obvious'. He kept the peace as the order should, but he also hungered for fights, the exhilarating chance to challenge and strengthen himself. To keep the balance between the two contradicting priorities, he took the rush from those he acknowledged were physically and mentally strong, like Tenou Haruka and Fon, and those who crowded to make up for their weaknesses and foolishly believed themselves strong in numbers. Keeping discipline while satisfying his urge to fight.

Herbivores did not understand that it wasn't weakness Kyoya despised. Weakness was inevitable. Babies – those not wearing the stones – were weak. Children were weak.

They were starting, and that was fine.

What Kyoya despised were those who did not fight to grow stronger. Those who gathered in numbers and averted their eyes to the truth of the matter, that when all those numbers were stripped away nothing except a weakling remained.

When bitten, their true natures were revealed, and too many times Kyoya had seen that true nature to be an herbivore, by his definition. Maybe they flailed, maybe they bucked – but then they gave, and went limp.

They didn't fight back for their life and so he bit them to death.

Strength wasn't necessarily in winning. Strength was in pushing himself to the limit, to never give up on challenging the strong. To give up on constantly challenging himself was impossible, because that went against who he was, and Kyoya would break than become something he was not.

Rokudo Mukuro was strong, Kyoya would give him that. But Kyoya had a debt to repay to him in blood, and if he gave up just because he was 'strong', then he would be an herbivore.

And Hibari Kyoya was not an herbivore. Hibari Kyoya did not accept anyone as the discipline in Namimori, except himself. So long as there was even a single breath in him, that was a fact. Even if the disease that forced him to kneel had still been infecting him, Kyoya would still have dragged himself over to fight Rokudo Mukuro again.

"Are you ready?" Because Kyoya was.

"How frightening," said Rokudo Mukuro, pretentiously polite and not even trying to hide his falsities. "But please, don't get in the way of the Vongola and I. For one thing, you shouldn't even be standing. How many bones in your body have I broken?"

That was hardly anything he should be concerned about. Kyoya certainly didn't care himself how many of his bones were broken, because his priority was biting Rokudo Mukuro to death. Rokudo Mukuro should prioritize something other than Kyoya's bones, because he was about to be bitten to death.

"Are those your last words?" If so, then they were too insignificant for him to even remember them.

Rokudo Mukuro simpered. "You say such amusing things. It seems I have no choice but to take care of you first."

He rushed him, one side of his face burning with a dark fire that juxtaposed the blood-red of the eye. "This will be over in an instant!"

Pain didn't matter. His body didn't matter.

All that mattered was biting that despicable man to death, and his limbs, his weapons responded to his will.

Years of fighting, ingrained into him, moved his body. In the dark of the dirty hall of what had once been a bowling alley, Kyoya struck the trident away. Rokudo Mukuro was strong, and it meant nothing.

He hadn't landed another blow on Kyoya, despite all his injuries.

"How long does your instant last?"

In response to that Rokudo Mukuro smirked and disengaged. Kyoya didn't pursue and took the time to catch his breath.

"Don't take this one lightly, Mukuro," warned the baby. "He's growing a lot stronger than you think."

"I see. If he wasn't injured, the outcome of our duel might have gone very differently."

The overexertion he forced his body through chose at that moment to show, and fresh blood spilled from his wounds, exacerbated by the combat. Kyoya was, though he hated to admit it, at his limits.

"But injured he is," continued Rokudo Mukuro. "And this is a waste of time, so I'll make it quick."

Above his head, pink flowers bloomed like stars in the night sky, completely out of place in this deserted ruin of a building. A sight, if excluding the background and leaving only the flowering trees, that was very common in Japan. A sight he used to enjoy, for the feeling of tranquility it brought him, though it might have different implications from now.

Whether they were real or not didn't matter – they didn't influence him anymore. His injuries, however, did. Despite no longer being affected by that ridiculous disease, his body was protesting, warning him that he was truly pushed to the edge, that one faint breath could push him over. That he needed to stop.

"Come, kneel before me once again," taunted Rokudo Mukuro.

Kyoya swayed and stumbled.

Not now, he replied to his body, as he used the stumble as momentum to strike Rokudo Mukuro. Not ever, was the silent but violent reply to the man bitten. Kyoya wasn't done, not even if a storm came to try and stop him. Not until he decided he was done.

Even as he fell over the edge, even as he was falling, he needed to fight.

Kyoya couldn't see his target, couldn't hear his tonfas striking flesh, couldn't feel much in his limbs or torso anymore. All he knew was the breath in his lungs, the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears, and maybe a feeling.

A small, thin one, like thread, but a feeling.

Kyoya didn't stop biting until the sliver of certainty based on absolutely nothing faded away.

And then his body finally gave.

* * *

It was one thing to know that Hibari was a force of nature, the local cryptid, the town's tyrant – and another thing entirely to watch him fight an actual criminal with magic powers and win. With a severely injured body.

Honestly, Tsuna was probably the useless side character in the story, the extra gawking from the side as the protagonist that was Hibari clashed with the final boss that was Mukuro. The genre? Probably crime, with a heaping dose of action.

But even the extra had a role, and that role was to call the ambulance because those injuries? Had been bad to start with and the fight hadn't helped. Like, at all. Tsuna didn't want to believe it, but Hibari looked close to dying, and to be honest Gokudera wasn't looking too great, and then there was Yamamoto and Lancia still outside.

The extra was the one with common sense. It was a very good character to be. "We need to get everyone to the hospital!"

"Don't worry about it," Reborn said, calm and breezy. "The Vongola's best medical team is on their way."

The wave of gratitude and relief was like a tsunami, but it froze over completely.

"There's no need for a medical team," said a voice Tsuna didn't expect or want to hear, interrupting their plans to get out of here and fix any injuries.

Despite facing Hibari, despite the blood trailing from one corner of his mouth down his chin, Mukuro still moved and spoke. "There won't be any survivors."

Gokudera moved in front of him. "You-"

Sitting up, a gun in his hand, Mukuro laughed – and pointed the gun towards his own head.

The sight of a gun – green and originally Leon, but still a gun – wasn't new to him at this point, courtesy of Reborn, but this was different. It was the first time Tsuna had ever seen a gun pointed at the wielder's own head in real life and the sight was unfamiliar, but he knew what it meant, what it foreshadowed.

Even if the image didn't fit Rokudo Mukuro.

" _Arrivederci_ ," he said, almost kindly, and Tsuna didn't speak Italian and therefore didn't have any idea what that meant, but he had a bad feeling.

 _Wait_ , the word began to form in his mouth, but before it could even leave the confines of his lips, a loud bang, making him flinch violently, interrupted him.

Mukuro's body slumped over, nothing left in him to fight the pull of gravity and keep him upright.

". . . he really did it," said Gokudera, looking just as disturbed as Tsuna felt. The arm he had raised to cover as much of Tsuna as possible slowly dropped.

"How could he," Tsuna began, that word never to be spoken in time pushed away. "Why? Why did he do something like that?"

Rokudo Mukuro was just impossible for Tsuna to understand, even to his end, but witnessing that end hadn't been what Tsuna wanted. He wasn't sure what he wanted, other than a wish to have his life return to normal, but he knew that wasn't the outcome he had wanted.

And this couldn't be reversed, not like the special shots Reborn fired. There was no bringing back the dead.

"He probably thought he'd rather die than be captured alive," said Reborn, and he didn't sound disturbed at all. "Or – well, it's a shame we couldn't capture him alive, but there's nothing we can do about it now."

A chill crept all over Tsuna, as if Mukuro's ghost was haunting him. His stomach weighed down with the feeling that there was something terribly wrong as Bianchi stirred, regaining consciousness.

"Take it easy," recommended Reborn, and Bianchi grimaced with pain.

"You're right." She raised her head, face half-covered by her goggles, and tipped it towards her brother. "Lend me a hand?"

"Do I have to?" Gokudera grumbled, but he was already moving towards his sister. "Just for today."

The feeling grew sharper, almost painful, and Tsuna shouted. "Don't go any closer!"

Gokudera paused, and everyone looked at him. Under the pressure of their gazes, Tsuna nearly wilted. He didn't even know why he'd said that.

"What's wrong?" Bianchi asked, eyes still not quite visible through the tinted lenses.

"Um," said Tsuna, because he couldn't give an answer.

"It's alright, Tenth," said Gokudera, with a reassuring smile. "My injuries aren't that serious. I'm okay."

Tsuna wanted to say that was the reason why he called for Gokudera to stop, but –

"Sorry about this, Hayato," apologized Bianchi.

Gokudera shrugged like he was trying to hide his embarrassment and extended a hand to his sister. "Here, give me your hand."

She did give him her hand, but not like he expected. A silver blur shot towards Gokudera's face, and only after he scrambled back did Tsuna see the trident head. When Reborn tapped her lightly on her forehead, she swayed – only to turn the weapon on him.

Reborn dodged with a nimble jump when Bianchi tried to stab him, landing lightly away from her.

"Is that – mind control?" Gokudera asked, still on the ground where he had fallen.

"Something different. It looks like she's been possessed by something – strong."

"A curse, then?"

Tsuna wanted to protest that such things didn't exist, but the sharp feeling was getting stronger. It was familiar, uncomfortably so, and he knew it because it felt like – like –

Like seeing the figure sitting in the dark, like when Futa had been controlled and not in control of his own mind, like when the ground had torn up and burned but actually hadn't because it was all just _his_ illusion–

The words slipped out from his mouth before he could think about it. "Rokudo . . . Mukuro . . .?"

Bianchi – or rather, Bianchi's body – chuckled. "And so, we meet again."

Tsuna almost got whiplash from how fast he turned his head towards Mukuro's body. It was still there, lifeless and still, still – dead.

"How?!"

"I've still unfinished business," said Bianchi's body, now on her feet, still gripping the head of the trident. "And so, I returned from the depths of hell."

He was so close to wetting his pants.

"Tenth! Leave this to me!" Gokudera scrambled up to a standing position.

Tsuna didn't want Gokudera to have to fight his sister – that was terrible, and something Mukuro would probably enjoy making Gokudera do, just like how he controlled Futa to attack them.

Gokudera was – _smarter_ – in that he didn't attack. Not physically. With large hand signs, he shouted out a spell to an exorcism. "Rin! Byou! Tou! Sha!"

Despite his panic, Tsuna gawked.

What was even weirder was that it actually had an effect. Grasping at her throat and moaning painfully, Bianchi's body swayed.

"Kai!" Gokudera continued barking out. "Jin! Retsu!"

Bianchi's body shuddered. With a metallic clatter, the trident head bounced away from her as she lost her grip on the weapon and fell, knees buckling under her own weight.

"Bianchi?" Tsuna called cautiously. When she didn't answer, he went forwards a little more. "Bianchi?"

There was no reply. Something rustled behind him, and Tsuna turned. Gokudera was behind him, holding the trident head that Bianchi had dropped.

"Shall I do it?" he offered.

"Gokudera-ku-" Tsuna began, when everything inside him _screamed_ for him to move. "Mukuro!"

He scrambled just out of the way as Gokudera stabbed where he'd been a split second ago. Ungracefully, he fell butt-first on the ground, next to Reborn but the shock of the pain was nothing, compared to how Gokudera was looking at him.

Except it wasn't Gokudera looking at him, not with that gentle but creepy, chilling smile that was so wrong on his face.

"Remarkable," said 'Gokudera' in an uncharacteristically lilting way. The same way Mukuro had spoken. "This is a first. No human has ever been able to sense my possession with just a look. You truly are fascinating."

'Gokudera' said he was fascinating not like he was a fascinating person, but more fascinating like a frog he couldn't wait to dissect completely.

But how? Mukuro was dead, so – a ghost?

"He pretended to commit suicide by shooting himself with that bullet," Reborn said solemnly. "The forbidden Possession Bullet. Where did you get it from?"

Whatever that was, it sounded ominous.

Through Gokudera, Mukuro chuckled. "So, you've noticed. Yes, this possession is due to that Special Bullet."

"Special Bullet? Like the Dying Will Bullet and the Lament Bullet?" There were _more_ of those weird things? But Mukuro wasn't stripping down to his underwear and doing weird things, and in a less serious situation Tsuna would have complained.

"Yes. A bullet that allows someone to possess another person's body and control it with his will." Reborn didn't take his eyes off Gokudera's body. "It was discovered by the Estraneo Family, and to use it one needs an affinity with the bullet. But it was declared forbidden in the mafia world because of how inhumane it was. The manufacturing process should have been destroyed."

That was a lot worse than ripping off all his clothes. That, at least, harmed only his sense of sanity and pride.

"Inhumane," hummed Mukuro in Gokudera's voice. "I suppose you could say that, though I would argue that it's actually exactly what humans would do. The bullet's effects cannot be compared to mind control. It's not mere control, but instead outright and complete possession – from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, every last part of his body is under my power. To put it simply, this body-"

He raised Gokudera's hand and stabbed the nail of his thumb into his neck, hard enough to draw blood. "Is mine."

"Stop it!" Tsuna shouted, horrified at the lack of change in his expression. Despite the blood dripping down his neck, he was still smiling like there was nothing wrong, in a way that was just _wrong_ for Gokudera's face.

Right now, Tsuna would have given anything to just see Gokudera scowl and rage like he did, instead of that sickly-sweet smile.

"That bullet was what let you control a man like Lancia," guessed Reborn. "But why do you have them?"

"Let's just say that they belong to me," he said vaguely. "But enough of that. It's time for you to be possessed, Vongola Decimo."

Tsuna started. "M-me?!"

Reborn was calm, but grimly so. "So, possessing Tsuna was your real objective."

"It's not an objective, but a means," corrected Mukuro. "Once I have the body of the Vongola Decimo, my vengeance can begin."

"Wha-" His body? The first thing that he thought of was 'Dame-Tsuna', and he truly wanted to tell someone all about it. He didn't want to be controlled, and more importantly, anyone who thought that he might be of some use in vengeance was sorely mistaken. What was he going to be useful in doing, _frustrating_ the enemy to death with clumsiness?

"Watch out for his weapon," Reborn warned. "If you're cut by the trident's points, you'll be possessed. That's the condition."

'Don't be stabbed' was easier said than done. By a lot.

"You know quite a bit," said Mukuro with Gokudera's voice, throwing the trident head. Tsuna ducked, covering his head.

"That's exactly right," said Bianchi's voice behind, and Tsuna remembered that she had been possessed before Gokudera. "For example, if I do this . . ."

Bianchi's body knelt and cut Hibari's face. "What I call a 'contract' has been made."

That was the most one-sided, misleading contract ever. Bianchi's body fell next to Hibari's, and then, to his ever-growing horror, Hibari's body rose up.

A harsh blow to his cheek knocked him off his feet, and for a moment all Tsuna saw were stars. The thump of a falling body a split second after his own fall broke through the pain.

"Oya," said Hibari's voice. "This body isn't of much use. To think he fought me on the Asura Path like this – what a frightening man, this Hibari Kyoya."

He released Hibari promptly, but Bianchi and Gokudera were both still under his control. Bloodied and injured, but still mobile, their bodies drew closer to him, one eye burning red.

"Both of them at the same time?" He should have been grateful that Hibari wasn't included, really, but he couldn't find gratitude in him just now.

"There's more," warned Reborn, bearing very bad news. "Those two, as well."

In the doorway stood the two hitmen from before, the ones that attacked Gokudera and Yamamoto separately.

That chilling, unnatural feeling that told Tsuna whether Mukuro was 'there' or not was coming from them. It was coming from four different directions, equally strong. "He's in _four_ people?!"

He had to fight _four_ people on his own?!

"I've never heard of simultaneously possessing four people before," said Reborn, because that was, of course, the biggest problem and not the four people being controlled to attack Tsuna.

"That's not all," said 'Gokudera', and an armload of dynamite flew threw the air. Tsuna covered his head, but the scorching heat washed over the skin of his arms, and the sound of multiple explosions nearly deafened him. His screams were nearly drowned out to the point where only the strain of his throat confirmed that he had really screamed.

The dynamite shower finished, and Tsuna inhaled, not caring if the air was filled with the smell of explosives. He had relaxed too soon, though – beneath him, the ground bubbled with heat, and pillars of fire began to erupt.

"If possible," Mukuro said through Joshima Ken. "I would rather capture you unharmed."

"It would be better," Kakimoto Chikusa's voice continued. "If you just surrendered."

So that he could be possessed? Another pillar of fire erupted just behind him, nearly singing his hair, and Tsuna screamed.

"You never learn, do you?" said Reborn, jacket lost. He jumped to dodge a volley of Poison Cooking flying his way. "This is an illusion."

"Worry more about yourself, Arcobaleno!" taunted 'Gokudera', and a flurry of dynamite flew towards Reborn while he was midair.

Where he wouldn't be able to dodge.

"Reborn!"

Multiple booms and the explosions hid Reborn from his sight, and Tsuna's heart dropped. No.

"That can't be all, Arcobaleno," lilted 'Bianchi', and Joshima Ken's body stabbed the black blur that flew out from the smoke with the trident head.

Gokudera, Bianchi, Joshima Ken and Kakimoto Chikusa attacking him were all bad enough. But if Reborn attacked him, too?

The black blur hung on the points of the trident, and it was only Reborn's fedora. Another blur shot towards Ken, snatching the fedora away, and Reborn landed neatly on the ground, dusting off his hat like its cleanliness was his only concern.

"It's been a while since I've experienced a real fight," he said, putting the hat back on his head once he was satisfied enough with its state.

Tsuna sighed with relief, and Reborn crushed it with the usual lack of mercy. "I'm not going to help you, so you better hurry up and do something."

"Are you crazy?!" he screeched. "What else am I supposed to do right now?!"

This was the worst situation. He couldn't even go into Dying Will Mode, because they didn't have any more bullets. Gokudera and Bianchi were under Mukuro's control, Hibari was unconscious, and there were essentially four people who were hitmen after him, and Reborn wanted _Tsuna_ to do something?

Both he and Mukuro had an almost perverted amount of belief in Tsuna, belief that was overestimating his potential.

"If you're my student, then you can surpass yourself," Reborn said, dodging a volley of needles. His voice was nearly drowned out by the dynamite that came Tsuna's way.

The way Reborn was able to make it all about himself, even now, was almost commendable, and definitely not helpful. "That's the lamest excuse ever!"

"I'm serious," Reborn said, and where he'd been standing before he jumped, a Poison Cooking in the shape of a cake was crushed against the floorboards, where it began to eat away the material. "Dino was also able to do just that, when he was in a desperate situation as well. When he overcame both the danger and himself, that's when he became the Bucking Horse Dino."

Became the – "That makes no sense! And Dino-san and I are completely-"

 _Different_ , he was about to say.

"Look up."

Dynamite fell like rain from the sky, but no umbrella could protect him. Tsuna flew, thrown by the force of explosives, and skidded for what felt like the hundredth time today against the ground. He was really getting tired of falling to save himself from certain death.

"Let's finish this," said 'Chikusa', but on his way, his body fell over, as if his legs couldn't support himself any longer.

"Wha-"

Ken's body picked up the trident head.

"What? This happens sometimes," Mukuro spoke through the blonde, like he was complaining of a mild inconvenience. "I might control them, but if something physically can't be done, then that's beyond my power."

He couldn't control Hibari. Or rather, he didn't, because his body was impossible to move even when possessed.

Not because of his possession being the problem – because Hibari was too injured.

Kakimoto Chikusa was stained in blood. Even now, his hand, his entire body trembled like it was seized by immense pain.

"You're forcing them to move, even if they shouldn't." Technically, someone with an injury – something like a sprained ankle, maybe, or a broken bone – could move. Maybe fight. The pain would probably keep them from doing it for long, though, and make it a Very Bad Idea.

But if someone's body physically couldn't be moved, because the bones were too broken, or something, then –

"It seems Chikusa can still move," said 'Chikusa', slowly pushing up his body on his arms, even as the tremors grew worse.

"His injuries . . .!" Tsuna protested reflexively.

"It's fine," Mukuro answered. "I can't feel any pain at all, so it doesn't matter."

The pain Mukuro felt was the least of his concerns, although it did explain why Mukuro could be so careless about how much pain the bodies he controlled were.

"But he's your friend! That's your friend's body!"

One red eye, different from Chikusa's, glinted with the odd numbered iris, but both lacked any true emotion, and certainly not worry for Chikusa. "That's incorrect. Since I have possessed him, this body is mine – to break, or even kill."

Mukuro said that people were like toys to him. But this was one of his friends – or, well, since it was obvious that he wasn't friends in the sense that Tsuna used the word, someone who worked for him. Regardless, they were on the same side, and –

"That's not right." It really, really wasn't. It was cruel, it was terrible, it was wrong.

"Worrying about others is really the least of your priorities," said 'Bianchi'. "You're next, remember."

"As interesting a boy as you are," 'Gokudera' spoke next, and despite the different voices it was one person speaking, and the words smooth like flowing water. "You really aren't cut out to join the mafia."

Tsuna wasn't interested in joining the mafia. His bigger concern than defending his preferences, however, was the amount of blood leaving Gokudera and Bianchi's bodies. Too much blood loss killed people, but he didn't know how much that would be.

He just knew that there was too much blood for him to be even remotely comfortable with doing nothing.

"Stop, please!" he begged. "They'll die, if you keep doing this!"

Gokudera's body chuckled. "That's right. You were ready to stab yourself for the sake of your girlfriend during the fight with Birds, weren't you? Let's go with that, and have your naivety be what lets me possess you."

He didn't mean –

Mukuro didn't let him misunderstand even if he wanted to.

"Cooperate," he said through four different voices. "Make a contract, or watch your friends die of their injuries."

Tsuna's initial response was rejection. "No – no way . . ."

"Wavering, are we? You truly aren't suited to be the Vongola Decimo – or, really, for this world. Come, surrender your body to me."

He said it like it was a kindness, a favor he was doing Tsuna. And he had the power here, the choice.

Tsuna, Tsuna had nothing. Except maybe –

Desperate, he tuned to the last hope he had. "Reborn! What should we do?!"

His tutor was no help. "I'm not going to do anything."

When he wailed in protest, Reborn kicked him. "Don't give me that pathetic squeal!"

Pathetic, sure, but what was he supposed to be? Brave? How? Gokudera and Bianchi were going to die if they didn't get medical help, and Mukuro wanted his body so he could use it like he did Lancia, and cause damage. What, exactly, was he supposed to do in this situation? Mukuro was strong enough to fight _Hibari_.

"But what can I do . . .?"

A small hand grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down roughly, so that he was at eye level with Reborn.

"Whatever you want," said Reborn. "You're the Decimo – and not anyone else. Whatever your true feelings are, venting them is the correct answer."

His true feelings?

"What do you want to do, Tsuna?" Reborn asked. "What are your true feelings?"

His true feelings? Try as he might, at the end of the day Tsuna was – and he knew this all too well – a simple, normal, no-good teenage boy.

He wanted things to not be like this. For his friends to be able to smile, and have fun, and not be in danger or injured. For them to not have to be attacked with acid, bone-crushing iron balls, needles, fangs or tridents. For Mukuro to stop treating them like toys, things that could easily be used and broken like they weren't living, breathing people with their own thoughts and minds.

He wanted it to stop, but for that to happen –

Tsuna knew what had to be done. He tried to talk, tried to run. Both had failed, and even if he could run, what about Futa? Gokudera? Bianchi? Yamamoto? Hibari? Lancia?

He needed to stop Rokudo Mukuro, because that was the only option left to him. And there was only one way he would be able to stop him.

"I want," Tsuna said, and he hadn't ever wanted a thing more than he did now. "To defeat Mukuro."

"Oya," commented 'Ken'. "How unexpected. But let's hear more about this in leisure after I possess you, and you bury your friends with your own hands."

What he wanted was to defeat Rokudo Mukuro. Why?

"I don't want to lose to such a terrible person," he mumbled.

He didn't need the mafia, or vengeance, or things about freaky bullets that let people possess others completely. He just wanted –

 _What? What did he want?_

"I want to beat him!"

A bright green light exploded and filled the air, almost blinding him. His sight too used to the dark, it took a while for him to get used to the light and find its source. In Reborn's hands, the green blob-like ball that was Leon was glowing like a star. The glowing green cocoon shot up towards the sky, and hundreds of threads glowing with light shot out from it, connecting Leon to the rest of the room by the ceiling, the wall, the floor. Everywhere.

"Vongola," snarled 'Ken', batting at the threads that had hit him. They didn't look like they had done any damage. "What did you do?!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"He's finally emerged," said Reborn, a smile curving his mouth. "It's just like back when Dino became the Bucking Bronco."

The threads of light, though many, were only a mild deterrent. Already Ken's body, with the trident head in his grip, was cutting through them. "I see. Then, this is your doing?" '

"No, it's Leon's. He's a rather special chameleon and enters a cocoon when my students face a trial."

"Is this a joke?!" Tsuna pointed to the fake green sun, finally finding the words to speak. "What the heck is that?! And what does that have anything to do with Dino-san and – whatever?!"

As if his pointing had done something, the Leon-orb began to puff up like a balloon.

"He's about to disgorge something for you," said Reborn. "For Dino, it was the whip and Enzio."

It still didn't make sense, and raised more questions than it answered, but a part of Tsuna was relieved at that news. Anything like Enzio – a killer turtle that grew to monstrous size and rampaged angrily without control – might really be helpful in this situation, and wow, what had his life become, that something like Enzio was actually going to be helpful.

But Ken was faster.

The trident ripped through the glowing cocoon, and like a popped balloon the fragments of Leon fell to the ground with a sickening splat.

"Leon!" For all that Reborn's chameleon could turn into different things, there was a difference between changing shape and being ripped in two.

That reality-defying, wonderfully weird reptile, though, wasn't going to let that finish him. The green pieces pooled together, until it was one.

"He's fine," said Reborn, who probably knew best about the health and well-being of his own pet. "But look up, Tsuna."

And from the ceiling above fell the weapons Leon had made for him.

Tsuna caught them. He didn't know how to use weapons, and the whip was definitely out of options, but right now anything would be welcome.

In his hands, as if to mock those very thoughts, sat a pair of woolen gloves.

* * *

AN: Hibari Kyoya is hard-to-write chuuni no.2 and hats off to Amano for creating such a character and making him (and Mukuro) so popular.

Also because I keep forgetting to say this, Kokuyo Arc has very little Hotaru until Kokuyo 7 (she says, at Kokuyo 5). I had it on my Tumblr and in responses to reviews but never actually had it in the AN, which in retrospect was pretty stupid of me. The Varia arc has more of Hotaru-POV, and then the TYL Arc…

The next 'gift fic' for Petrichor readers because we're near 200 comments on AO3 (and 135 on FFN) is going to be Chrome/Hotaru and uploaded on 02-01-2020 because it's Petrichor 1-year anniversary.

No voting like Saturnine because I really want to write the Chrome/Hotaru and it was the runner up? It's not 'Saturnine but Chrome/Dione is the love interest' so you don't have to worry about that (unless that was what you wanted to see, in which case, sorry to disappoint).

As a consolation (?) that's actually me being lazy, anyone have any historical events they want to see mentioned or alluded to? Preferably non-European, 200 CE-1500 CE (not limited to but is preferable) events. You can even throw in suggestions if you'd like. Natural disasters. Wars. Notable historical figures. Inventions. Rise or falls of cities / kingdoms / civilizations. Give me ideas. I am desperately in need of them, especially from the American Continents, Australia, the Middle East… actually just give me what you have. Represent, people! Show me your pride!

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	39. Kokuyo VI

The mittens were just ridiculous, but it was an entirely different matter when a Special Bullet was to be included. With the weapons of the silver-haired boy so loyal to him, Mukuro bombarded Sawada Tsunayoshi with explosives.

The explosions of dynamite drowned out the single shot of the Arcobaleno's gun, and both of them waited for the smoke and explosions to clear and reveal the fate of the Vongola Decimo.

A bullet. That, he hadn't expected, and the Arcobaleno had been quick, just as expected from a cursed infant.

There was no breeze inside, not the natural kind, but smoke was by nature intangible, and could not remain for long. It parted like the curtains to a stage, revealing what had previously been hidden.

Bloodied and ragged, Sawada Tsunayoshi lay on the ground, eyes closed, and breath near-gone.

His clothes remained on his body, and there was no wreath of fire on his brows like when he had fought Lancia, an underdog by all definitions but as fierce as an Einherjar.

(Something stirred inside, and it wasn't disappointment. It _wasn't_.)

"I don't think I need to rebuke you out loud," said the Arcobaleno suddenly, and as if they were the words to a magic spell, Sawada Tsunayshi's eyes opened, and there was a light in them.

Stained with blood and dirt, clothes ragged, and the mittens on his hands the only clean thing about him, the Vongola Decimo was, incredibly, still alive.

Well, Mukuro corrected himself. The mittens weren't the only things clean about him. Even now his eyes were clear of despair. There was still hope and determination, somehow.

(Did he once have eyes like that? Had, with all the violence and pain, and the fear, and all the wretched memories that were both his and not sullied them until –

Until he gave up on hope, because the only thing guaranteed in this world, in this living hell, was despair.

Or maybe he never did, because-)

"It doesn't matter." He moved Chikusa's body, and swung down the trident, to end this. "It'll be problematic for me if you die here."

Something, other than the piercing of the targeted flesh, stopped the descent of the trident. Holding one of the spears was a hand, gloved in that ridiculous mitten.

The Vongola Decimo had moved at a speed Mukuro hadn't caught. Granted, it was through Chikusa's eyes, without his glasses, but still.

Like the cocoon of the chameleon before, the mittens began to glow with a bright, orange light, a supernova going off until –

It wasn't just Chikusa's eyes that confirmed it for Mukuro, but also Ken's, and the two that came with the Vongola. The woolen mittens were no more, replaced instead with sleek, black gloves. A metal 'X' was on the back of the hand, and bands of metal wrapped around the wrist and fingers, as if to support them.

Mukuro focused his eye, and no – it was no illusion. The transformation, whatever it had been caused by, was real.

The trident prong held in his grip snapped off, like a dried twig breaking.

"Mukuro," growled Sawada Tsunayoshi, voice low. "If I don't defeat you . . ."

Flames, a bright orange, lit at the front of his forehead, just like it had when he fought Lancia. A crown of fire worn by a prince, a mane of amber flames for a young lion. "Then I won't be able to die in peace!"

(Die in peace? Was there even such a thing?)

Mukuro made Chikusa's body jump back, wary of unknown variables. The bullet had obviously struck its mark, proof of that clear in the flames that danced at the front of Sawada Tsunayoshi's brow.

And yet, it wasn't the same. Not the cool, almost tranquil gaze, not the clothes still on his body, and certainly not the way the flame was almost calm, not a wild raging blaze.

"You seemed quite a bit more fired up in the fight with Lancia before," he said, fishing for information.

"The Rebuke Bullet brings out the calm fighting will in Tsuna," replied the Arcobaleno, still content in the expository role rather than fighting himself. While Mukuro preferred to not have to fight an Arcobaleno, he didn't like the unknown variable he represented, and didn't trust the hitman when he said he wouldn't interfere. Words didn't bind and neither did honor. Only death and power did. "It's a completely new bullet – different from the Dying Will Bullet – with a totally new hidden power."

What a ridiculous name. New power, new 'weapon' or not – could it hold up to skills forged in the paths of hell itself?

Mukuro moved Ken's body to attack from the Vongola Decimo's back while speaking through Chikusa. The calm light of his eyes never broke as Sawada Tsunayoshi, with one hand, grabbed Ken's head to force him to a stop and knock him back with a swing from the other arm. All without turning his gaze, or even blinking.

With Chikusa's body he threw forth a barrage of needles from the specialized yo-yos – or so it would have seemed. While the illusion played out, he moved forwards –

And Sawada Tsunayoshi struck him, knocking Chikusa down with a blow to the face. Like Ken's body, the hit to the head made it so that the entire body's balance was knocked askew.

It was a clean blow, one that meant Sawada Tsunayoshi could somehow see through his illusions. The ones he wrought through the first path.

But he shouldn't have been able to. He hadn't been able to, just before.

Hyper Intuition, the Arcobaleno called it. From the fabled Blood of the Vongola.

Mukuro could accept that explanation, that his latent potential was awakened by the bullet. After all, if Sawada Tsunayoshi's eyes could see through illusions and warp the sense of reality for others, then why should he be so arrogant as to assume that there wouldn't be other powers, from different sources than those Mukuro knew?

It was in something else that Mukuro saw his advantage. The reason why Sawada Tsunayoshi had come, the way he had reached out to a boy trying to stab him just because he knew and _cared_ for Futa de la Stella. "But surely you haven't forgotten – that this is your friend's body? Can you really strike at me? At them?"

The answer, as Mukuro expected, was no. The Vongola Decimo's new powers didn't matter, not when he refused to use them to strike at the bodies of his friends – even as they, possessed by Mukuro, beat him soundly as if he was a sandbag.

"You're wrong," corrected the Arcobaleno – who was truly starting to get annoying, because if he wasn't going to fight, he should at least have the decency to stay silent on the side. "Tsuna knows that the way you're using both Bianchi and Hayato's bodies are damaging them. Rather than fighting and exacerbating their injuries, he's protecting their bodies."

Mukuro faltered as he realized that the cursed infant was correct, and Sawada Tsunayoshi knocked the silver-haired boy's body out with a sharp blow to the neck that paralyzed it, leaving it beyond competent control. The Poison Scorpion's body followed shortly after her younger brother's, collapsing like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

The Vongola Decimo reached out to let their bodies fall onto his arms, and not the floor.

"Sorry about the wait," he murmured in a voice befitting the calm, unbroken light of his eyes, carefully setting them down on the ground. "Reborn, you look after them."

With all the contracted bodies out of commission, Mukuro had only his own form at his disposal. The fragmented visions came together as one – his own.

"Show yourself, Mukuro." Sawada Tsunayoshi turned his head and his gaze towards his direction. Even the shadows wouldn't hide him, Mukuro knew, not from those eyes. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

('Alive' was far more relative a term than most thought, at least for Mukuro.

But in the conventional sense of the word, yes, Mukuro supposed, he was alive. His heart was beating, pushing blood through his body, and he breathed air in and out of his lungs.)

That fire burning at his brows strengthened the Vongola Decimo, as did the gloves he wore. He no longer had other bodies to control. Illusions wouldn't work with him now. Neither would beasts be a threat.

Mukuro had to meet him in combat, but the Asura Path alone wouldn't be enough.

"Out of the six skills I possess for battle," he said, as all things came to a circle, as it should. "There's one more I haven't shown you, remember?"

That special bullet might have strengthened Sawada Tsunayoshi, but it could not give him knowledge that he didn't possess. The Arcobaleno answered once more. "The fifth path – the realm of Humans."

There was always at least a seed of truth in myths, a reason for their creation. "Exactly. This world that we live in presently is the realm of humans. Among all six states, it is the ugliest and the most dangerous of worlds."

The light in Sawada Tsunayoshi's eyes shifted, as if in doubt. Proof that he did not understand the true evil of the reality he lived in, even now.

Of all the realms, it was the humans that was the worst.

"I am not being cynical. Because I hate this world, I hate this skill the most." Mukuro raised a hand to his right eye. Hating something and making use of it were two different things, not mutually exclusive. "If possible, I would rather have not used it, but . . ."

His fingers dug in without hesitation, drawing blood. The pain was physical, familiar – and almost a release, for all that he felt within. An expression of the ugliness festering within him that could not be seen, and in that sense, a relief.

And with it released the powerful aura of human greed, that terrible force demanding everything, even if it meant destruction.

Mukuro hated using it, but the fifth path had its uses. Sawada Tsunayoshi could not keep up with his strength or speed now.

He threw him around a few times, each blow meeting their mark squarely. The last strike threw him across the large room, into the wall.

(Fragile things that human beings were, but terrible, so terrible, and –

Why – couldn't – they – all – just – die)

"This is the difference between us," he said, keeping his words from being panted out. The fifth path strained his body – and while much of it was psychological, he was also growing tired himself. "An infinite abyss. This is – a warm-up, you could say."

It was the literal difference of life and death.

"No."

The word was almost growled out, and from where he was, on the other side of the room, the orange aura exploded, doubling in amount like flames fed a gust of air.

The gloves – not mittens, comical and harmless, but _dangerous_ – rose to his brows, covering the top part of his face from Mukuro's sight. The sleek, black gloves, almost weapon-like – odd as the phrasing might be, but true – caught on fire, the same one as the crown he wore.

There was no smell of burning (cauterized) flesh, no smoke, no pained expression, and that aura was in his fists now as well as his brow. "If that's all you have, I'm very disappointed."

The power of the human path was ugly, despicable, and every second with it made him feel like his entire body was covered and filled with live ants, and that single sentence – that taunt, that challenge, that provocation – was all it took for Mukuro to nearly forget that wretched sensation.

"I," he snarled back, vocal cords made guttural by humanity's ugliest, basest evils and by default its true nature, "am going to have some goddamn fun with you."

But, as he engaged in combat and found out firsthand, there was more to that orange aura than just the Vongola Decimo attempting to look bigger, like how a cat puffed up its fur to bluff. It wasn't aura, and it wasn't normal fire – as his trident found out, when a grip from those burning gloves melted the metal.

Selective heat, Mukuro realized when a second later, the other – also blazing – gloved hand was used to strike at his head. He dodged the blow but not the heat that the fist emitted.

That was no aura.

"Unlike a normal aura that can only be seen by certain people," the Arcobaleno explained, continuing his lecture as if this was a normal lesson. Of course a cursed baby would have the strangest of tutoring sessions. "The Dying Will Flame is made up of compressed energy that possesses a destructive power of its own."

Whereas aura was a response to power being present. Like shadow cast due to a light source, rather than the light itself.

As Sawada Tsunayoshi charged him, Mukuro had to reorganize his strategy. Keep him at a distance and wear him down. He did have the advantage in reach, with a weapon, and with their physical abilities nearly on par – the boy with his Dying Will Flames, and Mukuro with the Human Path – he could win this.

The Vongola Decimo disappeared from where he had been, right before him just as he swung down the warped pole hard enough to crack his skull, and Mukuro started, briefly seeking out signs of an illusion.

He didn't catch any trace of such a thing, but he did feel a violent shift of air from behind him, and as impossible the idea instinctual response made him turn –

Just in time to see Sawada Tsunayoshi there, a fist wreathed in fire swinging down.

Both hands holding the distended pole in front of him, Mukuro somehow, miraculously, kept the fist from actually hitting him. It saved him from taking the hit directly – a boon, undoubtedly, because being punched by the Vongola Decimo right now would have been like being hit with a hot iron with the same amount of force – but the result was him crashing into the ground and skidding a distance away ungracefully.

What had that been? Through the pain his mind raced. Teleportation? Had those 'Dying Will Flames' somehow given the Vongola Decimo the power to teleport?

No, surely that wasn't it, that was ridiculous. Maybe –

"Are you done warming up yet?"

Oh, throwing his own words back at him. Mukuro supposed he had deserved that. This calm Sawada Tsunayoshi, vastly different from when he had fought Lancia – and every other instance he had seen him – was tranquil, but his words were biting. Clever.

It enraged Mukuro, beyond what the human path usually drove him to. He would exact payment for that in blood.

He bared his teeth in a snarl and laughed, because laughter did hide fury so well. "What a delightful miscalculation," he purred. "I won't even need to gather resources to cause conflict within the mafia when I get your body – I could just cause it directly, with your own hands."

Sawada Tsunayoshi's eyes, burning a bright amber, didn't waver, per say, but there was a slight shift at Mukuro's words.

"So your goal is conflict within the mafia."

The hitman was tied, body and soul, to the mystery that was the cursed infants of the rainbow, and he did not see – or rather, he did not see _enough_. What a small scope he worked with, what a limited horizon he assumed was everything.

"No, no, that would be too petty. I plan to possess VIPs from all over the world."

He would play the games he never quite did when he was a child. Games of war, mock battles waged on each other, between friends, or between toy soldiers.

"Then I'll control them and drown this ugly world into a pure and beautiful sea of blood."

That should be about enough to wash away everything that disgusted him about this world.

"A world war . . ." he trailed off, not quite liking the example. Europe had been the center of two such events prior, and it was Japan that was ground zero twice. And yet none of those events had been enough to change the ugliness of humanity. What Mukuro wanted demanded more blood, more change, and so perhaps the term wasn't entirely accurate. Or perhaps the term had not been used correctly before, and his plans would culminate in the true definition being identified. "Does that sound too fake?"

Neither student nor tutor answered or even reacted, which was a pity. Filthy mafia that they were, stained in the worst and more than deserving of his vengeance, Mukuro would have liked to see their faces be affected with negative emotions. Shock. Terror. Horror.

(Just like the adults of the Estraneo, who couldn't take what they did, how pathetic-terrible-ridiculous-ironic)

"But first," he said, because he had priorities. "The mafia must be annihilated."

And that was why Sawada Tsunayoshi was first.

Fully human in every sense of the word, that was what made them react.

"Why are you so fixated on the mafia?" questioned the Arcobaleno.

Those amber eyes were fixed on Mukuro and were he a lesser man Mukuro would have thought they were piercing, down to his deepest, darkest secrets. "A grudge?"

Astute of them, they were close to understanding what the seed that had taken root in him and led him to awakening was.

But Mukuro had regained his breath, and his mind was stable once more – meaning, he could use illusions that would not be as easily perceived.

"You'll find out," he said. "When your body is part of my plans."

And with that swept forth the illusion, a creature cut out of the shadows of hell's abyss, shaped in his image like his own shade given life. It charged towards the Vongola Decimo, who did not react or flinch away.

"It's an illusion," he stated, correctly, but Mukuro had expected him to see through that. With intuition on par with the likes of what he had demonstrated, Mukuro had no plans on being a one-trick pony.

"Gah!" The stones hidden in the illusion struck, and the waver in resolve made the illusion effective as an attack. Not as strongly as he might have liked, but Mukuro drew satisfaction from the pained groan Sawada Tsunayoshi emitted while holding a hand to his face.

And he did not waste the opportunity. Mukuro leapt, the pain of the human path mixing with the exhilaration, the adrenaline, and victory was in his grasp.

"Tsuna," the Arcobaleno said, not snapping or raising his voice, but urgently nonetheless.

"I know!"

Flame coated his fist, and just as Mukuro struck down, he was gone – no, in mid-air, swinging, almost flying towards him from behind again.

Caught off-guard, Mukuro tried to react, to dodge or even to block, but it was too late, his back too open and unguarded. The blow was harsh to his face and were it not for the human path, he would have been knocked unconscious as he was smashed into the ground.

But being conscious was the only thing he had. He could move, but he wouldn't be able to catch Sawada Tsunayoshi off-guard, and nor could he beat him in physical combat.

At least, not without a distraction. Not without Sawada Tsunayoshi lowering his guard.

It was a gamble, and the stakes his life.

(What else is new?)

Quietly, Mukuro cleared his mouth of blood, and only once it was clear did he chuckle. There would be no weakness shown, not in spirit if he could not prove his physical strength. He would not plead for mercy.

"So this is the Vongola Decimo," he mused, raising his head so there was eye contact. There would be no death on a surgical table, this time, but this was preferable. Not favored, but better than his previous deaths, even if it would be final. "The man who defeated me."

If.

Mukuro briefly considered congratulating Sawada Tsunayoshi for his victory but decided against it. The boy wasn't even bragging, and sarcasm would slide off him like water off a duck's feathers.

Instead he went straight to the point. "Kill me."

The coin of fortune flipped. Heads, he would die. Tails? He would come out victorious.

"I'd rather die than fall into the hands of mafia scum like you," said Mukuro. A taunt. A dare.

A gamble.

The coin landed.

"I can't do that." Sawada Tsunayoshi turned away –

And his back, unguarded and vulnerable, faced Mukuro.

Tails.

Before the Arcobaleno could call his student out for his foolishness – for turning his back on an enemy not confirmed dead, a fatal mistake – Mukuro leapt up, out of the hole created by his fallen body, and grabbed both wrists.

Perhaps, in a story, the hero's offering forgiveness to the foe who tried to kill him and take over the world might impress the defeated antagonist and convert him to the side of light.

Foolish boy, steeped in the comforts of fragile peace and blinded to just how cruel the world was.

It was from his hands that Sawada Tsunayoshi had his strength, and Mukuro would have been foolish to miss it.

So he didn't.

A solid headbutt to the back of the head left Sawada Tsunayoshi swaying, and Mukuro didn't give him a chance to regain his balance. Both of them had their arms out of use – the Vongola Decimo because Mukuro held them, and Mukuro because he was restraining him – which left Mukuro's legs free to kick the defenseless back and sides repeatedly.

When Sawada Tsunayoshi stumbled, nearly collapsing into the only thing holding him upright – ironically, Mukuro's grip on him – that was when Mukuro threw him, towards the wall where the trident head was buried, points sharp and ready to impale anything thrown onto it.

There. It was his victory now. Airborne as he was, there was no way for Sawada Tsunayoshi to change directions, and no way for him to defy gravity.

With an animalistic scream, Sawada Tsunayoshi roared wordlessly – and his hands caught on fire once more. Twin meteors, tails long and blazing, erupted and curbed his projected path until he was all but hovering, midair, the pull of gravity shoved aside.

The hands, each a shooting star of amber fire, turned, and Mukuro understood the secret behind the speed of his former movements, the almost-teleportation like quickness that had caught him off-guard more than once.

A fatal miscalculation on his part.

A meteor himself, Sawada Tsunayoshi flew across the air, defying gravity, and he was there, right in front of Mukuro, and there was nothing he could do to fight.

Like an avenging angel, wreathed in fire, Sawada Tsunayoshi grabbed him by the head. If the Vongola Decimo's Flames came from his hands and his forehead, then Mukuro's skills came from the eye, his path into the realms of Hades.

He _screamed_ , heat swallowing his face and flames nearly blinding him.

But in the fire, beyond even the aura around his eye, Mukuro saw it – the bright, silver light. As clear and obvious as the full moon on a cloudless night, the light blazed from within the Vongola Decimo's heart, not quite of the same source as the flame he wore like a crown but just as bright.

His intent crashed around Mukuro like a howling storm, determined will so loud that it drowned out Mukuro's thoughts, and all the whispers of Hades that perpetually haunted him.

'I want to stop you! I want to protect my friends!'

Nowhere in that fierce desire did Mukuro sense murderous intent of any kind. Even now.

And the light he carried inside, protective as the legendary Aegis, responded, spilling out like a tidal wave. It washed over Mukuro, and he fully expected – prepared, even – to die a sixth death, because this was it, this had to be it.

What he received wasn't the familiar feeling of death and slipping into Hades once more, perhaps for the final time.

The closest thing Mukuro had to compare the sensation to would be a warm shower, washing away all the mud, the sweat, the blood, the exhaustion. It washed away the discrepancy between his body and soul, the wretched aura of the Human Realm, the haunting whispers and cold clutches of Hades. What had been clinging to him like dried blood caked at the cogs and gears of a machine were burnt away instantly.

It was all that and so much more, that Mukuro had nothing else he knew of that which he could compare the experience to.

The light brought him a sense of clean tiredness, as if it would be okay for him to fall asleep. As if he was promised a restful night of healing slumber, free of nightmares and memories of what was both and yet not his, the kind of sleep too distant and unfamiliar in his mind to feel like a real thing.

To fight its rush would have been like fighting becoming wet in a storm of rain – pointless and impossible. And despite the loosening grip on his consciousness, Mukuro couldn't fight it, not really. Everything that motivated him – the spite, the hate, the fear, the despair – was washing away, and without it –

What was he? What could sustain him?

Mukuro slipped away, no foothold beneath him, but it was a fall that did not fill him with fear. Not when, to the end, the eyes fixed on him held no will to kill – even now.

And he was never one to believe, but if he was, Mukuro might have said that Sawada Tsunayoshi would not, even now, strike the killing blow and finish him off.

* * *

Mukuro's screams faltered and stopped, and his eyes were closed when Tsuna withdrew his hand, lit with fire.

He was unconscious now, lying in a crater of rubble. Truly unconscious, Tsuna knew.

The Flame at his forehead flickered, and began to extinguish.

"It's done," said Reborn, quietly – but in the silence of the hall, even that was loud.

The last of the fire fizzled out, and with it Tsuna felt a warmth curl out of existence. Not in a bad way, at least not in full. Like stepping out of a warm bath. There was a part of him that missed the warmth, the comfort, but like feeling clean and done after a bath, there was also a sense of rightness, of something being completed.

That feeling didn't last long, because Tsuna remembered that basically everyone except Reborn had been seriously injured. "We need to call an ambulance!"

Or five. The more the better. The _sooner_ , the better.

"Don't worry," said Reborn, holding up a cell phone. "The Vongola's medical staff has arrived in the area. They've already administered the antidote to Lancia."

The sigh of relief came from deep within him. Lancia had been difficult to fight against – because he was strong – but Tsuna still remembered how the large man had moved to protect him from the poisoned needles.

Even after everything he had been through, the man was still extraordinarily kind-hearted, enough to act to keep a virtual stranger from harm. The kind of strength of heart only heroes in movies had, Tsuna might have believed.

Speaking of Lancia, though . . . .

Tsuna turned to the crater he had played a part in creating, and the person that still lay in it. Earlier, he had been certain that Mukuro was truly unconscious, but now . . .

"He's not dead, right?" Tsuna asked Reborn, needing affirmation that he wasn't a murderer, that he hadn't made Mukuro's name a truth and turned him into a corpse. "He's fine?"

Reborn actually sighed, as if Tsuna was dumb for worrying about ruining his future. "You're too kind."

Too kind? _Lancia_ was kind. Tsuna just didn't want to go to jail. Besides, Mukuro was a terrible person but that didn't mean he deserved to die. He stepped a little closer, carefully, to peer at Mukuro and check for himself.

"Don't get any closer, byon!" snarled a voice, startling Tsuna.

Ken and Chikusa had regained consciousness – and judging from the verbal tic, Mukuro wasn't possessing them this time.

That didn't stop them from crawling towards Tsuna, bodies covered in blood and wounds, like zombies determined to eat him or break into pieces trying.

Tsuna tried to back away because of the sheer terror of the sight, but Reborn slapped the back of his leg, and his small hand hurt far more than it had a right to. "Don't be afraid, Tsuna. They don't even have the strength to walk."

And that was true, because even now, they were crawling, arms trembling with the effort, but the fact that they didn't stop, eyes burning, meant –

"Don't touch Mukuro-san," snarled Ken, like an angry dog – like the ones that were chained, but still strained at it, ignoring how their collars strangled their necks in their effort to howl and bark at Tsuna when he passed their house, furious intent making it clear that given the chance they would love to shred him to pieces.

That meant Mukuro meant a lot to these guys. Because those dogs wanted to protect their house and owners, and these two were the same. It didn't matter that Tsuna had no intent on robbing the house or hurting Mukuro. Well, hurting Mukuro any further.

Maybe it wasn't the same, because it didn't make sense. Tsuna didn't get it. "Why do you do so much for Mukuro?"

He was a guy who controlled Lancia and made him kill his family. He took over the bodies of others like Bianchi, Futa and Gokudera, and ignored their pain, their safety and their health. Heck, he had taken control of Ken and Chikusa's body, and treated them the same way he treated Gokudera and Bianchi!

Tsuna couldn't imagine being as protective as they were to a guy like Mukuro. If someone did that to him, he would have run the first chance he got. "You guys were possessed and used by Mukuro, and your bodies were just-"

Used until they were ragged and torn, without any concern for their wellbeing, Tsuna wanted to say, but he was cut off.

It was Chikusa who spoke, not Ken, and the contempt was clear even in his flat words. "Don't speak as if you know anything."

"This is nothing for us-byon." Ken pulled himself up to his elbows. "Compared to back then? That was suffering."

'This was nothing'? "Back then?"

Reborn, surprisingly, showed interest. "What happened? Speak."

Ken raised his head and smiled. It was an expression full of fangs, and no joy or mirth whatsoever. The blood running down his face, and the scar bisecting it horizontally made it a frightening image, like a serial killer from a horror movie. "We were guinea pigs, for human testing conducted by our own 'Family'."

Tsuna needed a moment for that to sink in before he fully understood.

"I thought so," said Reborn, and Tsuna didn't understand how he could be so calm about it. "You're part of the Estraneo Family, aren't you? That's why you have the Possession Bullet when it's been forbidden."

"Forbidden?" Ken spat, and what hit the ground after leaving his mouth, while hard to make out in the dark, looked more like blood than saliva. "You guys just labelled it like that for your own convenience."

It was a bullet that made it possible for people to completely possess other people. Tsuna could not think of a reason as to why it shouldn't be forbidden, but Ken wasn't done.

"Thanks to that," he huffed out, exertion clear. "We were persecuted – by everyone. As if the mafia is high and mighty, but no."

"Labelling us as brutes," murmured Chikusa, and his flat tones made it all the worse, because his stoic manner made a larger emotional impact. "They shot at us when they saw us. We were worth less than bugs."

Ken laughed harshly. "And that just made the adults of the Family all the more motivated to experiment and make special weapons-byon. And you want to know who they turned on first?"

No. No he didn't. Tsuna didn't want to be here, feeling like he was on the edge of something terrible. If he heard, then he was –

"Us. The children of the Family. Every day was like hell for us, and every day, one by one, our friends died, and there was no way out – no way for us to live." Something wet ran down Ken's face, following the path left by the blood, but unlike the blood this was clear. Ken didn't seem aware that he was crying.

Tsuna felt like crying, himself.

"But he . . ." Chikusa had to stop, to take another ragged breath, and he didn't continue, only looked to Mukuro, and for all that his face was still blank, there was a desperation in his eyes, a light that said if he were to die, he would move forwards as a ghost.

"All by himself, he destroyed that miserable life, and took us out of that hell." Ken couldn't hold himself up on his elbows anymore, and he crumpled back to the ground. "For the first time since birth, there was a place for us to go."

That didn't stop the blond from his struggle. He reached out, and pulled forth, inch by painful inch. Chikusa did the same. "We can't have you destroy that!"

Reborn had said that Mukuro and his fellow escaped convicts were exiled from the mafia. Tsuna hadn't given that description any thought, because at the end of the day, mafia or not, it didn't change the fact that they threatened his peaceful life and wellbeing.

He should have. He really should have, if not then, right after Reborn said so, then after, as he fought Mukuro, heard his plans. He should have realized what would have driven Mukuro to want a world war, to bathe the world in blood. He had felt it – the grudge, the hatred clear in him as they fought. It wasn't fair and he should have realized –

And then what?

As if they were a racing car smashed into the concrete barriers on the side of the road, his thoughts came to an abrupt, painful halt.

Should he have done nothing for Gokudera, who stood between him and the barrage of needles and took the attack with his own body? Should he have turned and left Yamamoto alone down in the buried zoo? Should he have ignored Futa's fear? Should he forget Lancia?

Should he have let his body be taken so that more blood could be shed? For war, with the start being his own body being controlled against his will? Losing everything, even his name, while he was trapped in his own body like Lancia, forced to do terrible things?

No matter what he felt towards them, the answer couldn't be changed.

Joshima Ken and Kakimoto Chikusa crawled forwards, each movement a monumental fight. It said a lot, about just how much Mukuro meant to them.

"But," Tsuna swallowed. Maybe it was selfish of him, to hear their suffering and still decide that his was a bigger priority to him, but it was. "I can't just sit back and stay silent or do nothing when my friends get hurt either."

Because they _had_ been hurt and hurt _badly_ at that. Ryohei had been attacked, as had other Namimori students like Mochida and Kusakabe. Hotaru had acid thrown on her face, and it was only by sheer luck that she could heal herself that she was fine. Gokudera was in pain, forcing his injured body beyond limitation just to come with him. Yamamoto risked his arm for his sake, when once he would have died because he could no longer play baseball due to injury. Bianchi was stabbed. Futa was controlled. Haru, Hana and Kyoko were threatened, their lives endangered. Hibari, though he wasn't exactly a friend and probably never would call anyone a friend, was still badly hurt because Rokudo Mukuro came for Tsuna and threw Namimori into terror.

"That's my place to go."

The wildfire in Ken's eyes flickered, _faltered_ , and Chikusa, though blank-faced as Tsuna had always seen him, stilled.

His answer wouldn't change, but it still hurt him, a little, to see that despair in their faces.

When he heard the door open, he was almost glad for the distraction from his discomfort. "Who-?"

"The medical staff has arrived," said Reborn.

With the sound of something heavy sharply cutting through the air, a black blur passed his eyes and Reborn stiffened with alarm.

Tsuna only made out the shapes when they – manacles and chains made of black metal – snapped around the necks of Mukuro, Ken and Chikusa. The chains, long and heavy, extended from the thick collars to the figures that entered.

Even by the outrageously ridiculous standards Tsuna had regarding the Vongola, the trio that entered couldn't be medical staff. They wore bandages, but they were frayed linen things covering every bit of flesh as if the newcomers were mummies, and everything else about them was clothed in black. A top hat, old-fashioned coats with fur lining that enveloped their entire bodies, and they radiated menace like the sun radiated light and heat.

"Who are they?"

"Vindice." Reborn was solemn as he removed his hand from the Leon gun, where it had flown the moment the chains whipped through the air. "The enforcers of the mafia world, who put to trial those that can't be held by conventional means or laws."

The sound of metal sliding against itself drew Tsuna's gaze back to the bandaged enforcers, and what he saw made Tsuna force himself to keep looking, despite his fear.

"Wait!" he protested, because the three of them were being dragged across the floor by their chains. It was callous, and they were being treated like they weren't human or even living beings. Even luggage might have been treated with more care than they were. "What are you doing?!"

"Don't, Tsuna," warned Reborn, and just as suddenly as they had appeared, the Vindice disappeared like ghosts. "It's risky to get on the bad side of the Vindice."

For Reborn, usually so full of confidence and willing to get into a fight (read: push Tsuna into chaos and suffering) to say such a thing cautiously was what really drove the point in for Tsuna.

But no matter how scary the Vindice were, Tsuna still had to ask. "What will happen to them?"

"They'll be put on trial for their crimes and punished accordingly."

If it had been a police officer that took them away, Tsuna might not have thought about it any further. Or maybe he would have, but not like this. Not with this weird mix of uncertainty and worry and concern and guilt he was feeling.

"What . . . kind of punishment?"

A part of him wanted to close his eyes and pretend that all of this had never happened. That he didn't see Rokudo Mukuro or Joshima Ken or Kakimoto Chikusa, hadn't heard their words filled with old, painful rage, didn't just see them dragged off roughly, pitifully.

He had to ask, though, because he destroyed their place to go. He did it to protect his own place to go, and if he had to do it again, he would choose to do the same, but –

"Who knows?" Reborn cut off his guilt and thoughts of moral obligation without any hesitation. "But it won't be anything light, for sure."

Before Tsuna could protest at that answer, too simple and lacking sympathy, Reborn beat him to it. "We don't live in a kind world."

No, Tsuna realized, they didn't.

And that was the saddest realization he had today, that the world he lived in could be so cruel and cold, that safety was a little like the illusions Mukuro used – reality until it was shattered, so easily broken. That today, he had seen a glimpse of a world beyond the boundaries of his lucky one, where children were experimented on to the point of death by adults who were supposed to protect them until they wanted to start massacres out of hate.

Tsuna couldn't dwell on those thoughts for long. Not because they were too heavy and he wanted to raise his spirits, but because the pain finally came through, to the point where it might have been quicker to list parts of him that didn't feel like they were dying, and Tsuna fell unconscious with exhaustion.

* * *

AN: I was going to wait until a banner but it's Hotaru's birthday so have an upload with no Hotaru in it (next chapter, promise).

And Usagi's blessing – wishing that Tsuna would be happy – is finally used as more than a proof of trust for the outer soldiers. It was always meant to be used (at least, as the purifying force) in the Tsuna vs Mukuro battle. There's a little more than just the blessing in action here but that's explained in the next interlude so don't worry about it.

For those who don't know yet, Mikrokosmos has been uploaded at last. It's a collection for parts that either have been cut out of Petrichor (due to speed, or irrelevancy, or being too OC-centric since I usually get bored reading those and I wrote it, so I figured others would prefer not having to scroll through that here), are AU, or just something I wanted to write (this person).

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Mukuro back in K4: where is the line you won't cross?

Tsuna in K6: I'm sorry all that happened to you, but you threatened my friends and I can't let that happen.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Mukuro in K6: teleporting by Flame? Ridiculous.

Byakuran in TYL, as a giant face projection: Hi~

The Vindice, popping out of Flames fueled by sheer spite: You're under arrest.

Kawahira: Hmm?

Mukuro: …

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	40. Kokuyo VII

After the last push-up Hotaru collapsed, uncaring of how dirty the mat would be under her face and what that meant for her skin. Michiru's methods of caring for her health was a spa day with a focus on skin cleansing and hydrating, a far superior method than this.

This? This was torture. She was being tortured. She was going to die, she could taste it, feel it, and as an authority on the subject Hotaru wanted to say she was going to die.

"I'm going to die," she said what might very well be her last words.

It wasn't enough to warrant some kind of emotional response from her torturer.

"You still have two more reps," said Haruka, who had no mercy.

She turned her head so that she was resting on the side of her face, rather than the front. Her nose appreciated this change greatly.

Of the four of them, she and Hana were tied at last. Haru was in the gymnastics club, meaning she already had a pretty strong base to start with for stamina and muscles, but Kyoko was surprisingly close behind her.

"How are you not dying," wheezed Hana, sweat making the hair that had escaped her ponytail stick to her face, flushed an angry red from exertion.

Kyoko smiled sheepishly. "I tag along with onii-chan's training routine at least twice a week."

"Insanity," said Hana, and if she wasn't so tired it might have been an accusation. "Blasphemy. Betrayal."

Hotaru pointed in Hana's general direction because she wanted to show her support of those wonderfully accurate and true statements, but also couldn't speak. Soldier of silence, silenced. Probably for good.

"I did ask if you wanted to join me?" She sounded pleased. How could Kyoko sound _pleased_? She was too nice to be smug, and yet, on anyone else that tone of voice would have been smugness incarnate.

Hana was unaffected. "And I said no because your brother's training routine is insane. _He's_ insane. I'm not insane."

Kyoko didn't refute that, and from what Hotaru knew of her extreme brother, that was very likely true.

And now, all four of them were in the spartan hell that Haruka was putting them through because they were friends and friends didn't let one suffer alone.

Hotaru didn't want to blame Haru, but she also blamed Haru for this all starting. Not the acid attack, because that wasn't her fault.

No, the coming home and agreeing with Haruka when the blonde seized the opportunity to put Hotaru through training as Tomoe Hotaru. Sailor Saturn could handle herself, but that was as a sailor soldier, transformed and protected by the planet of silence. Haruka wanted Tomoe Hotaru, human being with some special powers leaking through from her soul, to be able to defend herself if such a thing ever happened again.

The logic was sound, but that required physical exertion. A lot of it. So far, she had gotten away with it, but Haru's insistence made it impossible to run away from it anymore. She had even, out of pure kindness, gotten Kyoko and Hana involved with it, after hearing they had a near-run in with another Kokuyo student that could have gone southwards were it not for the intervention of a teacher from Namimori.

Truly, Haru had been fueled by nothing but kindness and consideration, but the road to hell was paved with good intentions, and that path was being carved on her very muscles and bones right this second.

Kyoko, Haru and Hana had discovered, quickly enough, just why Hotaru had worn an expression that only those resigned to a terrible fate, like the electrical chair, usually donned. By then there was no backing out – Haruka had them, and she wasn't going to let them go.

She sighed. At least Haru had understood the reason why they couldn't just report to the police about their attacker – it was hard to explain why a random attack with acid had left no damage on her, and she really didn't want them digging.

That didn't mean, however, that her parents weren't out for blood. Sure, the culprit was human, which meant that he couldn't just be hit with an attack and disintegrated on the spot, but at the time even Michiru had looked ready to hit her skeletal attacker with her mirror. Not even with a Submarine Reflection, just as a blunt weapon. Repeatedly.

When Hotaru tried to point out that it was the most ignoble way to use a treasure like the Deep Aqua Mirror, Michiru had merely smiled and smacked it against one open palm, like she was practicing swinging it into a skull in a manner not unsimilar to a tennis swing. Hotaru gave up after that.

It was a phone call the next day that broke them out of their rage, a call from Kawahira.

His first question had been to ask if she was alright. No greeting, straight to the point.

"I'm fine," she had said. "I healed."

" _Physical wounds are easy to heal_ ," he said, and let the unsaid question hang.

"I healed," was what Hotaru repeated, and much like his unsaid words her own answer unspoken hung, able to fall either way. Not a lie, not a truth, and therefore not neither, because silence was sometimes just the absence, but it could also mean something.

It wasn't like she hadn't had worse, anyways.

" _Hmm_ ," he said in response, not contradicting her, but also making it obvious that he didn't believe her. " _If you say so. Then moving on – would you like revenge?_ "

"What?"

 _"Revenge. Vengeance. Retribution. Payback. Do unto the culprit what he did, sevenfold – or more."_

"I don't think that last one is an accurate definition of the word." It was also slightly disturbing. "Wait – you know where he is?"

" _I do, and that's why I am asking what you wanted_." Hotaru could imagine him idling, one hand holding the phone to his ear and the other doing something to keep it occupied. Playing with the ring he wore, maybe, or tangling and untangling his fingers on the cord of the phone. " _He and a few friends of his were rather nasty fellows, wanted for several crimes. Shortly after running into you and your friend, they were captured and taken back to Europe."_

What were criminals from _Europe_ doing in Japan? There was something _so_ weird about this town.

 _"They'll be serving several life sentences in a high-security prison for their crimes,_ " Kawahira informed her, almost cheerfully. _"Not including, of course, their attack on you."_

And that was why he had called to ask, what she wanted. Because technically, she could press charges, except then the only 'crime' they could pin onto her attacker was an attempted assault.

"Does he remember me?" she asked, already knowing what he would say. Kawahira liked to portray a lazy persona, but he was, at his core, someone who had lived for centuries, slipping on different identities and manipulating memories.

" _No_."

Not that she wasn't glad to hear that a creep who went around dressed in a junior high uniform attacking actual junior high students was in prison, out of society, but . . . "And he's serving time because of what he did, not because of anything you did?"

" _They are paying for the consequences of their actions, and no more_ ," he promised. " _I'd rather not get into listing all their crimes, but they really were very terrible people. No one would have blamed you, had you transformed and smote him down with the full wrath of a sailor soldier. Preferably focused on him alone, since, you know, but still completely understandable."_

It was nice of him to condone murder in her defense, but Hotaru felt defensive over her decisions. "You told me to refrain from using the power of Saturn in town, around others."

" _That I did_ ," he said, with a sigh. " _I would have much preferred, though, that you not been injured, so maybe I should have made that clearer – it would be preferable if you didn't use a large amount of magic but prioritize yourself first and foremost_."

There was no sign of it in his voice, but Hotaru could read the reason behind his words. Kawahira felt guilty for her injury. "He was human."

Not a monster, born of dark magic. Not a demon, created out of dark desire. Not a magical being set on invading this planet.

He was a criminal, a terrible one, from what Kawahira hinted and what Hotaru extrapolated based on what he did and tried to do, but still –

A human being. A mortal person, whose life would be so short compared to the long life she would live.

Hotaru didn't doubt that all those years waiting for her in the future would be meaningful for her, because so long as she was Sailor Saturn, so long as she – so long as they – had their princess, there was meaning.

But that didn't mean she could ignore other lives. No one could, but not her, especially not her, who knew best the weight and the significance of death.

Besides, he hadn't even been a threat. The two strangers had arrived just after and had taken him down.

She was fine. Truly.

Kawahira muttered a phrase of exasperation in an old language, one likely dead by now. It was only the magic in her that let Hotaru understand what he lamented, about those in his life always taking the hard path.

"Sorry."

" _Please don't apologize for caring about people – even those that, arguably, might not deserve it."_ Kawahira sounded exasperated.

He made her sound so noble, when in reality it was merely holding back on excess retribution. She hadn't made some great sacrifice.

"It's not that I'm sorry for – it's you being stressed by it." She doubted that her requesting revenge would have made Kawahira feel better, either. He was efficient, and revenge was unnecessary cruelty. He also had a lot on his plate and didn't deserve additional stress. Even after taking into consideration his remarkable longevity, that was good for no one.

" _It's fine, it's fine."_ Kawahira sighed again. " _Just – take care of yourself."_

She was fortunate, that everyone in her life cared about her so much. That was all she needed. "I will."

 _"That's all I can ask for. Final question – did you want me to erase your friends' memories_?"

Right. Hotaru exhaled. There was also that. Her heart had nearly dropped yesterday.

.

On one hand, the news that Takeshi and Tsuna were in the hospital really was terrible news, but at least it had also let her escape the house, where Michiru had been ready to go on the warpath. It was probably going to be worse when she got back, and Haruka and Setsuna were inevitably alerted to what happened, but still. She could leave that for her future self to deal with, and focus on _her friends being hospitalized,_ which _, what_.

"That's really hypocritical of you," Haru pointed out. She had also escaped with Hotaru, trembling in fear at the terror that was a furious Michiru, so she had no right to say that.

"It's not," Hotaru insisted, because it wasn't. She was a sailor soldier, with everything that came with the authority she was born with. Magic. Power. She could heal.

Why were Takeshi and Tsuna in the hospital? Was it that fight between Kokuyo and Namimori Middle Schools?

When they got there, a room of four beds all filled by people they knew was identified for them. They were lying in bed, but at least some of them were awake, judging by the low conversation going on.

Well, there went her plans to heal Takeshi and then pretend to be relieved he wasn't as badly hurt as she imagined. Tsuna, too. Maybe she could stick around until they were all asleep?

"Knock knock," said Haru, rapping her knuckles against the doorframe. "Guess who came to visit?"

Tsuna was asleep, as seen in the complete lack of reaction from his bed, but Bianchi and Gokudera both turned their heads towards the door. Takeshi, whose bed was closest to the door, also turned, and his eyes widened when they landed on Hotaru.

"Hotaru!" Takeshi nearly jumped into a sitting position when he noticed her, and then winced in pain. Clutching at his ribs, he still pulled himself up to a better angle to see her. "Are you alright?"

"I feel like I'm the one who should be asking that question?" Hotaru said, exasperated. Really, the patient asking the visitor if she was alright, who did that?

Takeshi didn't laugh like he usually would at the logic. Hotaru's exasperation was replaced with concern.

"What?"

"What happened?" Haru asked, eyes flitting all over in concern. They finally landed on Reborn, who was resting at the foot of Tsuna's bed. His hat hid his eyes, but it looked like he was sleeping as well. "Is Reborn-chan okay?"

"Yes, just tired." Bianchi gave them a wan but welcoming smile. For some reason, she was wearing goggles, but Hotaru decided to not ask about her sense of fashion in the hospital. Maybe she had an eye problem or something. "Hotaru . . ."

The hesitation was laden with a lot of things unsaid, and Hotaru blinked. Come to think of it, Takeshi wasn't the only one that was weird. Gokudera was almost trembling like he wanted to burst, staring at her with an intensity bordering on being creepy. It was highly unusual behaviour for him. Usually, his attention was on Tsuna.

"Hahi?" Haru looked at the pink-haired older girl and then back at Hotaru. On their way here, the idea that their friends were hurt had pained Haru greatly. It hurt Haru even more, clearly, when she took a deep breath and told Hotaru that unless she could do so privately, in secret, unless it was absolutely terrible or life-wrecking or in need of anything on par with a miracle, to not heal them.

Because Hotaru was also her friend and Haru would help protect that, and that had been all-too-clear to Hotaru with that one quiet request.

Haru's taking on the guilt in an effort to protect Hotaru, though, turned out to be completely irrelevant.

"We saw you get attacked with acid," said Takeshi, and Hotaru finally realized what that out-of-place emotion on his face was.

Guilt.

 _Why?_

What slipped out of her mouth wasn't that, however. "How?"

It was Gokudera that answered before Takeshi could say anything. "Birds had these cameras and was transmitting a feed, and we saw through that."

"Cameras?" Haru sounded strangled. For good reason, because if they saw the attack, then it was logical to think that they saw what happened next.

All Hotaru could say to that was, "Who is Birds?"

And why was he transmitting a feed through cameras? How did they even see them?

"A jerk," said Gokudera at the same time Bianchi said, "No one you need to be concerned about – we took care of the footage."

Takeshi was just a second behind the siblings. "You don't have to worry about him."

Which, spoken with good intentions meant to make her not worry, clearly, but only served to make her even more worried.

"What about the guy who attacked us?" she asked, making gestures in what she thought to be a skeletal figure, but was probably just random hand movements. "Did you see me-"

If they saw her heal, they had probably seen the skeletal person in the Kokuyo uniform attack her.

"You don't have to worry about him either," Takeshi promised with the solemnness of someone making a blood oath. "And yes."

There was so much that made her worry in those words and Hotaru wanted to bury her head in her hands. Other factors may also have been involved in this desire.

"You're taking this really well," she said in the end, deciding to procrastinate on untangling her emotions and shoving it aside where she couldn't see it, and therefore could pretend it didn't exist.

Bianchi shrugged, and lightly grimaced. "If it's any comfort," she offered, voice gentle. "We don't judge."

 _But you don't know_ , Hotaru thought quietly, almost despairingly. _You really don't._

"And we won't tell anyone." Surprisingly, it was Gokudera, of all people, who said that. His eyes were – sparkling?

Hotaru nearly did a double-take. Gokudera's eyes were sparkling. It was not, as far as she could tell, an illusion. And she couldn't sense any magic or signs that this was a fake pretending to be Gokudera, meaning it was just Gokudera Hayato in the hospital bed, bandaged, looking at her like she had just come out of a lamp to grant him three wishes.

It was very confusing, and contradictory of the usually abrasive boy.

"Promise?" she asked instead.

Gokudera nodded so hard that she worried he might hurt his neck.

"If it's hard for you to have faith in us," offered Bianchi. "How about this? You could heal some of our wounds and then we'd be beholden to you, and therefore obligated to keep your secret. A _quid pro quo_."

That, if anything, snapped her out of her numbness. "You don't have to owe me," she said. "Just – don't tell anyone, please."

Bianchi promised, and Gokudera swore on the Tenth – what he called Tsuna. It was a little funny and made Hotaru laugh.

She healed Takeshi first, because she figured it would be best for Gokudera and Bianchi to see how it worked, and of everyone here, Takeshi was the only one who had experience as to what it felt like.

He offered her his arm – which, he really needed to stop hurting, because even if she was around, he loved baseball and that sport required arms. And running, but arms were important.

"How did this happen?" she asked, putting a hand close to the area. It was bandaged pretty heavily.

Takeshi regained his ability to smile, and gave her a sheepish one. "I got bitten."

By what? But he didn't expand, only smiled.

"Do you need to be touching the area to heal the injury?" Gokudera asked before she could press Takeshi for a better answer. Haru also, despite her initial surprise and wariness, scooted closer, curiosity winning out. There was going to be a dress-up in the future, her Haru-senses warned her. Haru would find a way to make it relevant to this new discovery and there would be a dress-up.

Hotaru paused and shook her head. "Just touching the person." It was something she learned via healing Haruka, who always had the most minor of injuries, so she hoped it applied.

"What does it feel like?" Haru asked, and Hotaru struggled to find a better way to phrase 'like healing magic, but slower and weaker than the Silver Crystal or being reborn'.

"It's a nice feeling," Takeshi said, while she worked her magic. Over on the other bed, Reborn stirred a little, but otherwise stayed asleep. He didn't look injured, from what she could see, and Bianchi didn't voice her concern for him, so for now Hotaru didn't prioritize him. "Warm. Like – ticklish, but not really. Fluffy except not?"

"You suck at explaining," Gokudera said flatly, and that was more like his normal self. His usual expression was soon replaced by the same excited, awed look, though, as he went back to staring at the light spilling from Takeshi.

Bianchi stopped her from fully healing Takeshi. "Just so the doctors don't get suspicious," she said, and Hotaru realized that she was right.

All Takeshi was left with were some superficial wounds. It would probably be suspicious still, but her friend was more important, and it was far less suspicious than just having no injuries.

"It hurts a lot less now," he said cheerfully, experimentally rotating his arm and flexing his fingers. "Thanks!"

Gokudera volunteered next, and he stared unblinkingly at his wounds – he peeled back the dressing on his chest to see for himself – the light, and her.

"It's a little slow," Hotaru said, a little defensive under the intense gaze.

For faster, more effective healing, it was either Usagi or Mamoru who could do things like that. Miracles and life.

"I'm not complaining," said Gokudera immediately. "This is a lot faster than regular, natural healing, anyways, and hella lot cooler. How does it work?"

It was undoing destruction, because that was under her domain, but it was always easier to destroy than to build, to fix, and there were limits.

"Not exactly special," she said lamely. Because it was a small, one-sided aspect of her powers, and destruction was necessary for renewal. "Just – minor healing. I can't do anything serious." Any serious healing, unless 'end everything' counted as a form of healing accepted by most people, which it absolutely wasn't. Not a lie.

"Like what?"

This was a day when she was seeing a very different side of Gokudera, and it was clear that she wasn't the only one thrown off by this. Unlike Hotaru, Haru recovered faster.

"Gokudera-san," growled Haru, who had trailed after her. "Stop harassing Hotaru-chan when she's being nice and healing your injuries."

"I'm not harassing her!" He scowled but tried to straighten his face when his eyes caught Hotaru looking at him. "I'm just curious! Do you have any idea how cool this is?"

"I have eyes and a brain, so yes, I might have an idea. But Hotaru-chan is more than just healing lights!" Haru snapped. "She's always been cool and wonderful and amazing!"

Hotaru flushed and ducked her head. That was probably enough for Gokudera, she thought, and let go of him, so she could move onto Bianchi.

"Hayato's always been a fan of magic," the older girl said fondly, while Haru and Gokudera bickered. "He loved magic tricks when he was younger, too."

Hotaru hid a wince. "Magic, huh?"

Bianchi smiled, and Hotaru blinked in surprise when a feel of something rushed over the pink-haired girl's body – something not threatening, but almost like a cloying scent, of maybe an overripe berry, or apple vinegar. It was different, and yet similar, to the kind of magic that ran in the more spiritually sensitive people, the ones more open to magic. People like Rei's grandfather, who gave the aura of incense, and aired-out wooden halls of a shrine. Like the old priest Bianchi's was far weaker than Kawahira's mist-like magic, but still.

"Magic," Bianchi agreed, winking. "As well as aliens, spirits, demons and cryptids."

It said a lot about her life, that Hotaru could reasonably find an association with basically all of the things Bianchi listed Gokudera having. She just nodded and focused on healing Bianchi, who had indirectly revealed something secretive about herself to make her feel better. Hotaru appreciated that bit of thoughtfulness.

"Does he know?" she asked, quietly.

"He knows but doesn't understand," Bianchi replied.

And then there was Tsuna, who was still asleep, and Hotaru didn't wake him.

"But Tsuna won't tell anyone, either," Takeshi promised on his behalf.

Hotaru nodded. That was what Tsuna would do, she agreed. She began to reach out to Tsuna, and then blinked, sure that her eyes were playing tricks on her.

They weren't.

The blessing that had been around Tsuna's heart, the soft light of the Silver Crystal Usagi had left him years ago, had finally been used.

Hotaru looked down at Tsuna's sleeping form. Quiet, exhaustion clear in every line of his body, breaths even and unbroken in deep slumber, but – there was a sense of restfulness, as if he had accomplished what he wanted, even with all his injuries.

It was used in the right way, Hotaru knew without knowing the context. Whatever the blessing had been exhausted on, it had been to make Tsuna happy.

Hotaru reached out to touch Tsuna's wrist.

.

"I think it's okay," she said. "They promised to not tell."

And it wasn't the whole truth about who she was, what she was, but – it was nice to not have to hide things from her friends. Nice to have friends who knew, even a small part of it. "And – at least this way if they get hurt, I can help them?"

Kawahira's voice was the definition of 'deadpan' when he responded. " _Teenage boys are incredibly reckless, even without knowing someone who can heal them. You may have just enabled their unfounded belief that they are invincible and invulnerable._ "

"They're not that bad." Hotaru put the fact that they had all ended up in the hospital for injuries in one fell swoop, like some kind of twisted parody of musketeers, far in the back of her head because this was extenuating circumstances. Did that make Bianchi d'Artagnan? All for One, and One for All. "And I told them I couldn't do things like growing missing limbs, so. I think they'll be careful."

" _That premise relies on the assumption that they will be able to take and make good use of that advice_ ," said Kawahira flatly. " _Boys in that age range are_ stupid."

Unable to offer a better argument, Hotaru just shrugged, and then remembered that for all that Kawahira liked to wear an air of knowing everything, he couldn't see through the phone. "I can hope."

" _As befitting the soldier of hope_ ," he said in a dry voice. " _If you are certain_."

"Not going to argue further?" she asked, only half-joking. A part of her said that it was a stupid idea, but another, louder part pointed out all the non-soldiers who knew her family's secret – and were still friends, still treated the powerful women like regular people in their lives.

Hotaru would have been lying if she said that she didn't want something like that, and while she was too much of a coward to make the full leap, maybe, just maybe –

Well, like she had said earlier. She could hope.

" _I can't see the future,"_ he said, matter-of-factly. " _And besides, even mistakes are important parts of our lives. I can't demand that you live accommodating to my paranoia or my brand of mad methods."_

The part about mistakes might have sounded pessimistic, but that was just his usual style of speech. If he was adamantly opposed, Kawahira would have used far stronger language, or simply said so.

"Thank you," Hotaru whispered.

And that, she figured, would be the end of it.

Until Haruka got her, and three of her friends, and she wondered, briefly, if it wouldn't be the better choice to just pretend it never happened. Ignorance was bliss, right?

"Burpees, come on. Jump! Feet off the ground, hands to skies!"

"I thought," wheezed Hana, "that you said Haruka-san is a racer. Car racer. Like, driving cars."

She's also one of the best physical fighters in a group of very powerful warriors born to protect the planets of the solar system, Hotaru thought ruefully and didn't say. Their last burpees looked like the dying protests of melting snowmen against the inevitable coming of spring.

"She's also an expert in judo and talented at basically every and any sport known to mankind," she said instead, misery dripping from every word.

Hana made a sound that might have been a terrified sob, and Hotaru felt like weeping right alongside her.

"She's so cool," said Kyoko dreamily.

"Right?!"

Hotaru truly envied their optimism. And also the fact that they had a good grip on their breath.

"Flattery's nice," said Haruka, a corner of her mouth turned upwards in a smirk, "but save your breath. Give me crunches, come on."

"Crunches," Hana repeated in horror. "The name itself is a clear warning – the human body shouldn't crunch."

It was the pinnacle of logic, the most convincing argument Hotaru had ever heard. She wanted it engraved on her tombstone as a warning to future generations to come, lest they make the mistake of daring to make their body crunch.

They still did it, and Hotaru couldn't say with absolute certainty that there was only sweat running down her face.

.

Hotaru and Haru had been attending Takeshi's baseball games since they were young, bringing along drinks, snacks, and large signs declaring their support of him in bright colors. There had been one year when the two of them had been mistaken for his girlfriends by different members of his team, and that had been an interesting game when the mistaken beliefs clashed, and until now she thought there would be no topping that one in terms of eventfulness.

The fall game this year was no exception, but it was also the largest cheer group that attended in support of Takeshi ever. A month after their hospitalization -and her healing – everyone was well, and more than able to sit in the bleachers to watch the game.

When he hit a home run, even Hotaru jumped to her feet to cheer as he ran around the bases with a speed she certainly wouldn't have bothered with had she hit a ball that far. She would have walked, and everyone who knew her would agree with that assessment.

Did she like baseball? No, Hotaru would answer if asked. Not just because it was a sport that involved running as fast as she could in a circle so she could come back to the exact location she just left, but also because it nearly made Takeshi make a very dumb decision once.

But he shone so brightly when he played, so what could be done about that? Takeshi wasn't going to do something nearly as stupid now – and Hotaru was reassured in her own power, that if he was ever hurt again he wouldn't be falling to despair because she could help with that – so there was no reason for her to resent the sport.

The distance made it hard for her to make out his features, but Hotaru knew what he would look like, smiling brightly with pure joy, open smile wide on his lips. Even when sweat was running down his face, even as dirt stained his uniform, he would be undoubtedly happy.

That was all that was necessary, wasn't it? That Takeshi was happy?

Gokudera and Kyoko's brother began yelling, and Hotaru decided, after hearing just what they were yelling, that their brand of cheer was unnecessary to pay attention to. Starting riots at games was just barbaric and yelling at a team that had clearly worked hard to quit and start a different sport was very rude.

As if the batter after Takeshi agreed with it, a foul ball flew their way. Far too high to hit any of them, Hotaru tracked its curving arc with her eye until it went out of her sight.

"At least they're having fun?" Kyoko offered with a slightly strained smile while Haru turned around to give Gokudera a deadly glare for being so loud and disruptive. "But they're being awfully loud-"

"Ah!" The fierce gaze of a girl who fought like a warrior of legends for what she believed for and loved turned wide with surprise. "Gokudera-san!"

The next minute, there was a crash, and alarmed, Hotaru turned in her seat, away from the baseball field for the first time to see that Gokudera had fainted. Above his head, Bianchi, holding a glove with the foul ball that had flown over their heads,

"Did he get hit in the head?" asked Hotaru, worried that he may have sustained brain injury. Futa, who had been sitting on the bench just in front of them with I-Pin and Lambo, clambered closer with concern on his face, still round with baby fat.

Tsuna, who had been sitting next to him, held both hands to his head in the universal gesture of someone desperately trying to soothe their sudden headache. "Why does this kind of mess always happen?!"

"He wasn't hit," answered Bianchi, who checked his head carefully. "He's probably just feeling a little weak from hunger. Luckily I brought lunch with me."

He didn't seem the type to easily collapse from low blood sugar, but Bianchi was his sister, so Hotaru figured she knew better. It also did seem quite like Gokudera to not feed himself properly despite such a condition only to end up fainting.

Gokudera opened his eyes, grogginess heavy in his green eyes. They landed on Hotaru's face, on Haru next to her and Futa below, and went above, almost rolling to the back of his skull to see Bianchi's face –

And he promptly shoved himself over to his side to retch. "Bleargh!"

"Gokudera-kun?!" Tsuna reached for him, voice raising in pitch with panic, almost shrieking as if he'd been hit.

"Keep it down over there!" shouted someone from behind them.

Hotaru glanced back towards the field. Takeshi had already finished his run around the bases and was waiting, but she caught him at a moment when he was looking towards the section where they were, rather than to the field.

It was loud, and far more chaotic than the previous years, but somehow, Hotaru got the feeling that he didn't dislike it. She certainly didn't.

Curving her lips, she waved towards him. It was too far to make out the features of his face clearly, but Hotaru knew he was smiling under the shade of his baseball helmet as he waved back, using his entire arm to do so.

* * *

AN: Finally, a Hotaru POV. It's been a while. And with that the Kokuyo arc is finally over, we just need an interlude and then it's the Varia Arc.

Will the girls be fighters? Not in the main storyline, no. Haruka's teaching them basic self defense things – like how to break out of a hold, how to get someone pinning you down off, stuff like that. The hell training is basically her seizing this opportunity to build up Hotaru's stamina, because it won't hurt (despite Hotaru's protests that it _does_ hurt, a lot).

With that being said, one day I want to write an AU / one-shot of a future focused on the girls. May the gods have mercy on the idiots that try to go for them thinking they're weak because I sure as hell am not.

Speaking of AU one-shots, for those who voted for or are interested in Chrome/Hotaru, Palingenesis will be uploaded on February 1st along with Interlude III to celebrate the one-year anniversary of Petrichor!

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Hana: I'm dying.

Hotaru: same.

Haru: It's hard work but we can do this!

Kyoko: Extreme!

Hana: I hate them so much right now.

Hotaru: same.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	41. Interlude III

**AUTHOR'S NOTE PLEASE READ**

If you have posted 20 or more reviews/comments (not replies to comments) on Petrichor, congrats, you win a prize! On AO3 Gerbilfriend, Witch of Perception and Ninjy, and on FFN **Suzululu4moe** and **kalmaegi** are eligible. I counted them when I was dead tired so I might be wrong so if you notice that you haven't been mentioned despite being eligible, let me know and I'll count again.

I can't give much, so it's basically just a 'I will write you a short Petrichor-related gift fic.' You can give me a ship (ex: Byakuran/Hotaru) and/or a story idea (ex: second year sports festival). It may or may not be Petrichor-compliant or AU, and I make no promises on word count, consistency, timely writing or satisfaction (this person).

Some might end up being fairly short and others might reach, like, Saturnine-lengths, and it all depends on the arbitrary thing that is my writing mood. But, yeah. Let me know what you want by a method of your convenience (review, message, Tumblr, Twitter).

This only applies to comments received prior to February 1st, 2020, so if you post a lot of comments after, sorry, that doesn't count until next year, if I choose to do this again.

* * *

Before Acheron was given his name and brought to the temple of Elysion as one of its official priests, it was Cocytus who conducted the funeral rites, blessed the prepared bodies and recited the prayers.

He was old, and dying, and a gruff man, but he was a good teacher.

"This isn't a good duty for you," the old man said once, as they worked over the corpses. The brunt of the labor was carried out by others, but as the priests in Elysion, they were the ones to bless and recite the prayers to ready the bodies.

"I'm good at it," Acheron pointed out, and he spoke the truth.

"There's a difference between being good at something, and that something being good for you, boy." Cocytus rapped him on his knuckles to stop him from making a mistake. "What have I said about anointing with the blessed oil on corpses?"

He rubbed at the sore knuckles and withdrew the bottle of oil. "Measure first and then anoint."

Even if his hands were steady and not shaking like the old man's, he still insisted that Acheron always measure and pour it out separately to not spill the entire bottle over the corpse.

Acheron did just that, doing it with deliberate slowness out of malicious compliance. Not that it made the old man bat an eye.

"You're good at it," Cocytus said when he finished anointing the corpse, not annoyed by the slow pace. The person being anointed also had no complaints about the speed, having been dead for a few days. "You're good at a lot of things."

"I'm aware." There was a reason why he was one of the two orphans chosen, and not the other children he'd grown up with in the orphanage.

Cocytus looked like he wanted to rap his knuckles again, so Acheron drew them back, out of reach. "But your arrogance blinds you, fool."

Acheron raised an eyebrow, wondering what Cocytus was about to nag him about now.

"You need to spend your time with the living," warned the old man. "Not with the dead, and not with your illusions. You need a good grip on reality."

"I _have_ a good grip of reality," Acheron objected, insulted that Cocytus implied he was insane.

"You're a child with a talent for illusions confined to a temple for the rest of your life with exposure to corpses and a limited number of living people," retorted Cocytus, the response fast and snappish like a whip. "I can't think of anything that will help you remain sane in all the things I listed, except the last."

Acheron scowled. "You forgot the strength of my will."

It was something Cadmus liked to talk about, the strength of the will, how having a strong one let a person push through the most impossible of odds and create a miracle.

"It was always better than prayer for me," Cadmus had whispered, a twinkle in his eyes as he tapped at the fake arm Daedalus had made for him. "Believing in myself, rather than the gods."

Which, arguably, weren't really appropriate words for a priest to tell a younger priest, but neither were interested in telling. Peleus usually tried to stop Cadmus from going into great details about the battles they saw, back when they were warriors who fought in wars to protect the kingdom, but what he got to hear impressed Acheron. He liked to think he had it too, and that was why he was Acheron, a priest at his young age.

Cocytus slapped his knees and roared with laughter, and Acheron briefly entertained the idea of throwing something at the old man. Something heavy.

A knock at the door of the chamber interrupted his plans, and Sephira poked her head in. Her blue eyes flitted from Acheron's scowling face to the still laughing Cocytus and put the pieces together.

"Are you making fun of him again?" she asked, exasperated.

"Only imparting words of wisdom." Cocytus stretched his back and groaned, a sound mixed with pain and relief. Old bones didn't do well in stone chambers designed to be cool in temperature.

"It doesn't count if you don't deliver them in a way that he can accept and understand them," Sephira retorted. "Anyways – Orbona made honey cakes."

Cakes made with honey – really, anything with honey – were Sephira's favorites. He preferred meat dishes and broths.

But he still liked them, so he picked himself up. "See you, old man."

Cocytus clucked his tongue in his direction, but Sephira offered him a hand, and he took it. Unlike the cold, stiff corpses he touched, her hand was warm and soft, and wrapped around his on their own.

And maybe, he admitted to himself, as they demolished an entire plate of the cakes layered and baked with honey and let their feet get into a wrestling match beneath the table; as Orbona and Euryale chatted about how the new girl was settling into life as a priestess; as Agamede signed to Daedalus with the same enthusiasm he showed in signing and speaking back at her, something about a new arm for Cadmus; as Peleus sat next to Helios, pushing his cakes towards the younger boy and suggesting quietly that he try it with cheese and apples next time.

Maybe Cocytus was right, saying that Acheron might be good at the job he was training for, but that it might not be good for him.

There was always a sense of accomplishment, in anointing with oil and reciting the prayers so that their souls could pass on properly. But it was the same kind of accomplishment that came with completing a task perfectly, like cleaning his room or answering questions correctly or finishing a particularly difficult book and understanding it.

It wasn't the warm feeling he had now, eating cakes and listening to the conversations around him, the conversations that he could be included in with ease and welcome, the kind that told him he belonged, in this relaxed atmosphere.

Not, of course, that he would ever admit that to Cocytus.

(And he didn't, ever, and a few months later Cocytus never woke up from his sleep, and Acheron, for the first time, carried out the funeral rites by himself with shaking hands, over a dead body with a familiar face that had once stood next to him reciting the same words, and he prayed with all his heart that Cocytus, for all that he was a crochety old man, would find peace in his afterlife.)

* * *

Nine out of ten times, Yamamoto Takeshi was a chill guy. He was, even in the most frustrating of times, able to provide the calming presence that let them take a deep breath and not be so frazzled.

And that was what made the one time when he _wasn't_ chill out of ten scarier – because if Hibari Kyoya rampaged, then it was just another Tuesday, but if Yamamoto Takeshi's mood was murderous, then you knew there was serious stuff happening.

The good news was the fact that Takeshi was never murderous towards Family. Once the initial panic wore off, Lambo remembered that fact and relaxed. Minutely.

The bad news was, he was still going to see that one out of ten times when Takeshi wasn't the chill one in the room.

"I-Pin," he begged his friend and fellow recent time traveller. "Help."

Lambo could see I-Pin briefly weigh it in her head. On one hand, he was her best friend. On the other hand, everyone knew just how concerned (read: obsessed) Takeshi got about hearing what happened ten years in the past whenever Lambo went back.

The scale tipped cleanly to favor one side.

"Sorry, Lambo," she said, abandoning him to the wolves without any regrets.

He groaned, before a metaphorical lightbulb went off in his head. "You know he'll still track you down, right?"

I-Pin paled because he was right, and she knew it.

Every time Lambo went back in time and then returned, he had to write and file a report, because Giannini and the science department was always curious. Every time, rather than read the report, Takeshi tracked him down.

The first few times he was subtle about it, just making it a conversation about what happened in the five minutes, who he saw, et cetera.

Lambo wasn't dumb, though, no matter what Gokudera said. He saw Takeshi and that mournful look he got sometimes, like a guy who had his heart broken and never healed. He remembered the aftermath of the fight between him and Squalo, after the long-haired swordsman said something no one quite knew but could definitely guess the subject of. He and the other swordsman were still friends, or as much as friends as someone like Superbi Squalo and Yamamoto Takeshi could be, but no one ever mentioned _her_ , at least as far as Lambo knew.

After the pieces connected, he just told Takeshi up front whether he'd seen Tomoe Hotaru or not in the trip to the past.

He looked like he had been socked in the gut by Ryohei, and then tried to cover it up with a smile. He wasn't all that great at it.

Lambo wished he could give him better news. Even if it was something like 'she was wearing purple' or 'she gave me a cake' or 'she was doing homework'. Even if it was probably bad for Takeshi, like a drug habit.

But truth be told Lambo hadn't been around Tomoe Hotaru a lot, or, at least, not used the bazooka around her often. Back then he usually used the bazooka when things were getting chaotic – or, when he ended up making things chaotic – and Tomoe Hotaru, like the girls, had been fairly untouched by the daily chaos that had been their everyday life. There was really nothing he could tell Takeshi about the glimpses of the past he caught. Sometimes, when the smoke surrounded him before clearing to a different sight, he wished he would see Tomoe Hotaru, interact with her in a significant way so he could have something more than 'she looked fine' to tell Takeshi.

That didn't mean he had wanted to see her get acid thrown on her face.

I-Pin went with him, seeking out the Vongola's Rain Guardian. Better to rip off the bandage, all at once.

Takeshi rubbed his face with his hand when he confessed nervously just what happened during this trip to the past. It was as if he was trying to imagine the damage that would have been caused, the pain she would have felt when the acid made contact.

"She healed herself. She was healing herself, when we came back – she won't have scars or anything." he said, I-Pin just as nervous at his side, but she, at least, had done something. She had still managed to help them, take care of the assassins that had been after them. All he had done was basically be a creepy guy expose her secret.

Wait.

She must have been freaked out, he realized just now, finally knowing what had happened ten years ago. A complete stranger attacked her with acid, and then another complete stranger revealed he – _they_ – knew her secret.

How the hell, Lambo asked himself without really wanting to know the answer, but knowing it anyways, would Tomoe Hotaru have felt about that?

Scared. _Terrified_.

Maybe it was his fault, that she was no longer in Takeshi's life. His heart, initially so startled that it almost felt like it had stopped, stuttered a guilty rhythm in his chest.

In his defense, his mind whispered, churning out excuses, he only had less than five minutes to keep her from being permanently scarred, and she didn't immediately flee from everyone – at least, not for a few years – so Lambo wanted to say it wasn't his fault, but he wondered.

If he had been better about it, more subtle, would things have gone differently?

Given that timelines were diverse, it was possible that this intervention would lead to a different outcome entirely, in a different timeline from this one. Maybe Takeshi wouldn't have to check obsessively whether Lambo saw Hotaru in the past or not. Maybe his heart wouldn't be broken. Maybe Haru wouldn't look so sad when she saw that look on Takeshi's face every now and then, when it broke through the layers of time and other memories and made itself known.

When it came down to it, Lambo was always going to be on the side of Family. Yamamoto Takeshi, the Vongola knew, was heartbroken. He had lost something more important to him than baseball and realized it only after it was gone from his life, and a part of Lambo resented Tomoe Hotaru for that. In crass terms he was never going to use before Takeshi in this context because he didn't want to end up like Squalo that one time, bros before hoes.

It would have been a lot easier, and was, to blame Tomoe Hotaru, but now, Lambo wondered if it was his fault.

Takeshi nodded, and when he removed his hand his face was like a mask, a well-made copy of his face, handsome and scarred at the chin, composed of wax. Almost life-like and not quite, despite it all.

The death mask smiled. "Thanks, Lambo, I-Pin. You kept her safe."

The gratitude was genuine, and that was what made it worse, for Lambo. He really was thankful that I-Pin and he stepped in.

He excused himself, and though he didn't run, Lambo felt like he was fleeing. Takeshi would probably go drinking, and because they were the Vongola he wouldn't be alone. Tsuna would join him, probably cradling the first cup of his drink without drinking from it because being drunk wasn't Tsuna's thing, and he would be there to listen, if any words were said. Gokudera would follow, to glare at everyone and everything and guard Tsuna's side. Maybe Ryohei, too, and he would be unusually somber and quiet.

Lambo wouldn't, because he was too young – even now – but he knew what would happen.

Takeshi could hold his alcohol. That was what happened when you hung out the Varia's second-in-command, a side effect that was aided by superior genetics in alcohol consumption. He was going to do what he always did, whenever Lambo gave him news about Tomoe Hotaru in the past, and drink until he was absolutely hammered and couldn't tell a baseball bat from a sword. It would take a lot of drinking, but he would reach that limit.

There were still a few more years before the time he could go back in would catch up to the loss of Tomoe Hotaru from Yamamoto Takeshi's life. Lambo wasn't sure what would happen after that.

Coward that he was, he kept his lips sealed shut.

* * *

Chiba Mamoru, six years old and a new orphan, lay in his hospital bed, sleeping because that was kinder than to have to face his reality. That, and sleep was better to healing, though he had escaped the car crash mostly uninjured.

He had a room to himself, because Acheron could still spare a little bit of compassion and not expose the boy to the sight of other children with living parents still caring for them. A little privacy might be better, in that sense, and money honestly meant very little to Acheron, so the extra cost was worth none of his concern. He didn't have to pinch pennies.

Acheron exhaled, not worrying about drawing attention with his presence erased. He hadn't expected the Chibas – good people, a loving couple who cared very much for their son, their _only_ child – to die in a car accident. He hadn't expected that at all. Chiba Mamoru was supposed to grow up in his normal life and discover one day – preferably sooner than later – that he was _not_ actually normal, awaken as the prince of Terra, become king, and bring a happy ending protecting the planet while Acheron went off and died.

He even had a list of locations he had under consideration as his deathbed. The Giglio Nero gardens, though with the Arcobaleno and all that was a little rude and not as high on the list anymore. The ruins of the Golden Kingdom, the part that wasn't taken into Elysion's wards. Elysion's ends, near the rivers at the boundary – far enough that Helios wouldn't be traumatized. And a few other memorable places. Teresa's grave, maybe, or the gravesites of the other guardians. His life as Acheron had begun with a relation to graves, so it was natural that graves were where he died, not just ended up.

But no, Chiba Mamoru now had no parents – which, great, just _great_ – and he was alone in the world because his parents were both only children, and his grandparents had died off already. The accident hadn't even had the decency to awaken the Flames in him, leaving one Chiba Mamoru, fresh orphan, hospitalized, heavy trust funds and all sorts of protection of legal and financial kinds to his name secure and waiting to be used.

Acheron scowled. That last part was his doing, because neither Chiba parent had expected to unexpectedly pass away and leave their son alone in the world.

He disliked the boy – because he _was_ a boy, no matter that he had once been a man in his previous life, it didn't matter how old he had been when he died because he couldn't remember it now – and maybe it might have been easier for him to awaken his powers and memories in full if he was lacking in more than emotional and social supports, but Acheron didn't push him into a life of poverty and desperation.

(It was for Sephira. For Sephira, because she had been wracked with guilt for centuries, until her dying day, and Acheron would never give Chiba Mamoru reason to find fault with Sephira when he finally regained his memories as Endymion and the truth was revealed at last.

If he did, rightful heir to Terra or not Acheron was going to punch the ungrateful punk in his face with a fist full of Hell Rings until his features were unrecognizable.

At least that might make it easier to look at him.)

A part of him considered becoming an uncle to the newly orphaned boy. It was hardly the first time he had inserted himself into another family tree as a relative despite the lack of blood relations. Forgery was easy, as was lying. Granny might like having another person around.

Then he decided no, _he_ didn't like the idea, and discarded it immediately. Kind of impossible, anyways, given his restrictions, so it wasn't like it would have even mattered.

He glared at the sleeping boy, a little reproachful that he could sleep like he had no cares in the world when the entire planet was at his mercy, without his even knowing it. It had only been four years since the Arcobaleno were made and the world settled. Only four since he made what he prayed would be the last sacrifices, and Acheron was still impatient.

(He was so close. They were so close.)

It wasn't a question of regret. There was nothing he could do to change the past, and he could only live in the present, and continue on towards the future. It was the best choice he could make, for all that it meant. He was not allowed to regret, only accept the consequences of his choices as they were.

"Hurry," Acheron said, knowing his words would reach no one, and certainly not the unconscious Chiba Mamoru. But to speak was a choice, and he felt better for it, giving a confession heard by no one but the sinner himself. "Become a king, assume your responsibilities, and execute me."

The old, after all, had to die to make way for the new, and his time was past due.

* * *

His Guardians were, understandably, in severe doubt over his decision.

Timoteo didn't blame them for their apprehension.

The sensible thing for the boss of a Family – of the Vongola, no less – to do in his shoes would have been to execute Xanxus. Both Coyote and Visconti agreed, which was rare in itself, and while the others hadn't been as vocal as those two, they certainly weren't disagreeing.

But dear friends that they were, his Guardians in the end let him have his whims. Timoteo didn't mind their fierce opposition, not when it was because they were worried about him.

"And yet you still went against their advice," mused Gabriel, idly swirling the wine in his glass. His brother-in-law wasn't as active as he once had been, but the slender man, unthreatening in appearance and in combat ability, had always been one to keep an ear out patiently, and seize opportunities when they came up. He showed up with bottles of wine and some food and promptly uncorked one, as if Timoteo's office was a valid place to be drinking.

"Regrets are hard to speak of without a copious amount of alcohol," Gabriel had argued, and Timoteo hadn't been able to argue that sound logic, despite the faint tug in his head warning him.

"Regrets," Timoteo repeated the word. _Regret is a monster humans cannot choose_ , Mother told him and Ginevra, the night before she officially gave him the Vongola Sin and held the ceremony of inheritance. _It is a monster that chooses us, hiding under our bed, lurking in our nightmares, waiting, wanting to swallow us. Don't let it do that. Fight the monster and come out alive, a hero of a tale who slayed the dragon_.

In his life, Timoteo had many regrets. Mistakes he made, lives that were lost, words that were said – or, not said. Decisions that brought consequences heavy and difficult.

He had regrets when he was young, and he had them when he was old, and as someone who experienced them both, Timoteo could say with bald honesty he couldn't always afford that the latter was worse. Regrets were always terrible, bitter things that lingered like a bad taste that wouldn't go away, the feeling of 'if only' and 'what if' despite the impossibility of changing what had happened.

Gabriel filled both glasses and raised one, a casual toast. "To our regrets."

Timoteo drained his glass, but the flavor failed to ease the bitterness of what they toasted.

They tasted worse, on a tongue old and near-death. Death, the reaper of life that discriminated not, was always close to him by nature of his position, but it was present more than ever, the scythe near his throat and ready to take his life. Regrets in old age was worse, to a man who had spent so long being powerful and 'right' by might, who made decisions on behalf of others and said it was for the best, who had grown so used to the entitlement that he did not see his wrongs until the repercussions were like gunfire. Impossible to ignore, and painful. The echoes of the gunshot, the sting of the rebound, the smell of gunpowder remained after and so too did the ghosts.

If only he communicated more with Xanxus. If only he noticed that his son's pride would fall to a fury unparalleled. If only he had been able to teach Xanxus kindness and patience instead of pride and anger. If only he had been honest. If only he had been able to communicate better, not be held up by the title of 'Vongola Nono' and grow lax to those who should have been treated like they mattered more because they did.

Hindsight was painfully clear.

It was his pride. No, it was arrogance. He had grown used to hearing praise for his insight, swelled up on wisdom without realizing only fools let themselves do so, and that hideous arrogance had reaped its price.

Gabriel did not drink, and of the two cups on the table between them one was empty, and the other half-full of liquid dark red. Perhaps, in a different lighting, it might be mistaken for blood. His face was lined, his hair silvered and receding, but Timoteo could still make out the thin youth he once had been, the young man that had won the heart of a woman so easy to love. Family.

"You shouldn't have sent Coyote or the others away." His voice was heavy with his own regrets. Gabriel, too, had lost so much. The man who once cared for Iemitsu, once called the young lion his blood and family had turned against him, love turned to hate – but he was still deeply in love with the Vongola, would likely always be in love with the Vongola. It was the only thing his brother-in-law had left to love, and at this point it was all he had left to live for. The Vongola, and revenge for his loves that had died before him.

Who was to say that love was always expressed correctly? Timoteo, of all people, had failed to love correctly, and it was his biggest regret.

And regret, that bitter thing, was so much worse to a man near the end of his life, because it meant that he was out of time. Time to live, time to make up for his wrongs. Time, and that reckless confidence, the vitality of youth. To fear the unknown but also crave it, to jump headfirst without cringing in fear – even if it was in bravado.

Old with age, Timoteo had experience that blinded him and a stubbornly stiff neck that didn't know how to bend properly when he needed it to. Foolish of him, to not realize that things which could not bend would eventually break.

The rational, pragmatic part of him, the tactical part that read the situation and drew up the best course of action he should take as Vongola Nono, told him that he should follow the code. A transgression had been made, and punishment was required. Blood was paid by blood.

Timoteo replied to that by pointing out the results of the Cradle Incident – the results born from the 'best course of action', without considering family and relationships and proper communication 'for the greater good'.

He was not a perfect man by far, and his mistakes were many, but Timoteo still loved his sons. All of them.

The consequences sat around his neck like a hangman's noose, or perhaps a serpent. Vongola Nono could remove them at the root, he knew. Simple and clean, as easy as washing away the residue on his hands from firing a gun. Just some water and soap and it would be simple, gone.

Timoteo could not, because the true source, as he saw it, was himself.

And maybe that was why, when he had a faint buzz of warning at the sight of Gabriel, Timoteo hadn't suspected – hadn't dared to suspect.

"Don't forgive me, my brother," lamented Gabriel. He was old, too. His brother-in-law had never been much of a fighter, preferring to deal with information and numbers. Gabriel was fine with not being the muscle, the face, the acknowledged, so long as the work got done. The inglorious work of paper-pushing that would never receive recognition, but someone had to do them, the invisible work that was not lauded or remembered.

It was a work ethic similar to Ginevra, and perhaps that was why his sister chose the head of accounting over the other men who pined after her – the thin, awkward man in glasses who blushed when she smiled and listened to her speak, enraptured, hanging onto her words. She'd broken a lot of hearts, and at least three of those hearts had belonged to Timoteo's guardians.

But Ginevra had been so happy, and no matter who she chose there would have been heartbreak, nonetheless. Timoteo remembered when his sister, and his brother-in-law, and their son had been such a happy family. Not in the front lines but a vital part of the Family nonetheless, the quiet, steady support in rough times, keeping the Vongola strong. United.

Back then, Gabriel's eyes had been filled with a warm light. Not the dark fire they burned with now, flickering madness that fed off a fuel of anger and bitterness.

Timoteo's vision swam.

Then, he recollected, because this odd light-headedness was making him nostalgic, Ginevra died – breast cancer, it was diagnosed, and though she was given the best medical treatment, and everyone who knew her prayed desperately for her return to good health, Ginevra wasted away before her eyes shut for good, and Gabriel focused everything on his only son, who looked so much like his mother, and was so like her in all the ways.

When Matteo was murdered, Gabriel lost any and all means of happiness. Not even Iemitsu could give him that – _especially_ not Iemitsu, who had to watch a man who he looked up to burn the bridge between them all the while grieving his brother.

A man with no means of happiness had nothing to lose. He should have remembered that earlier.

"I never thought it would be you," Timoteo admitted, but he did not fight. He had no right to, because back then he had taken Iemitsu's side, to protect Iemitsu. He had betrayed Gabriel, too, when Gabriel arguably needed him most.

And more importantly, he could not. The drug was working fast. His words were slurred.

It was the obvious choice, back then, to protect Iemitsu, the poor boy-turned-young man who came into his own splendidly against all the odds stacked against him. Iemitsu, and his family, were alive. Matteo had been murdered, yes, and Timoteo grieved his nephew's tragic death, still grieved over the grave of a young man buried by his father, but that was not by any fault of Iemitsu's, and there was no sense in Gabriel's rage.

No sense, no reason, no logic – but it had hurt his brother, nonetheless. Another regret, and Timoteo with so little time to set things right. He didn't regret protecting Iemitsu and the boy, but he should have been better. Done better.

Could he even begin to atone? Or did he no longer have the chance, or the time?

"You wouldn't have," agreed Gabriel, who was still loyal to the Vongola. How could he not be loyal to the Vongola? It was all he had left, with the death of his beloved wife and son, what kept the ashes he had become still moving, still gave him purpose. Vengeance was terrible, and consuming, and harmful to everyone, but it gave him a reason to continue breathing, moving, living. "Because even now, I don't want to hurt you, Timoteo."

But he would, not as an end but as a means – and wasn't it funny, that the head of the Vongola being captured and put in harm's way was not the goal but the method? There were so many hitmen who had died with that as their last goals.

And when the monster moved in, Timoteo didn't know how to fight it because he had made his bed. His consequences had caught up to him.

"My regret," said Gabriel, his voice distant like his ears were filled with wool, "is that I had to do this. I'm sorry."

The monster that chose him for his sins swallowed Timoteo. He slipped out of consciousness.

* * *

Family wasn't defined by blood.

Blood by itself guaranteed nothing. There had to be meaning, for something to be defined. Otherwise, it had no value, no inherent importance. To pretend otherwise was foolish, and weak.

That was how simple it was, for Kyoya. It didn't matter that Fumito was his half-brother, that they didn't share the same mother. Mother treated them both as her sons, and so they were her sons. They were different, like night and day, but their differences left them little room to clash over, and so they didn't.

Fumito wanted to be head of the clan. Kyoya wasn't interested in being the head of the Hibari Clan, dealing with simpering herbivores. He had his own pride, his discipline to uphold, and their interests coexisted. Fumito held back from manipulating Kyoya like he did with most others. Kyoya refrained from biting his brother to death and warned with words first if he overstepped.

Father upheld discipline in the house, taught Kyoya the importance of finding his pride in what he could not give up. He taught Kyoya that he should have a code. Not Hibari Subaru's code, because that would not fit Hibari Kyoya. It should be his code, one that did not have to stem from conventional norms or societal expectations. For his father it was the Hibari Clan, and the family. For Kyoya it was the discipline in his territory.

From his mother, Kyoya inherited his outward appearance. Mother liked to pretend she was weak, but she knew her own strengths, and while she hid her fangs she did not run from fights. She was more a spider than a beast, spinning webs and trapping her prey, not letting them be aware until it was too late. Silk-wrapped steel was her way, and it suited her well. She taught him to speak politely, even if his actions didn't match his way of speaking and impressed upon him the importance of being neat, because how could one reign without holding oneself to the standards of discipline they wanted?

If his family had ever been herbivores, trying to force him into their own definitions and limitations, Kyoya would have long since bitten them to death. But they were fellow humans and as he respected them, they respected him.

Mother did not bother sheathing her steel in silk today.

"Leave us," she ordered the doctor, who was cut off in his blabbers. Her frown left no room for argument, and whatever medical expertise the professional might have had suggesting otherwise, faced with a predator he did not have a hope of defeating, he backed down and left.

Kyoya explained nothing. There was nothing to explain. Fumito never went anywhere without knowing something about the situation and hiding half the cards in his sleeves, behind a smile that meant nothing. His parents had the control of the Hibari Clan and all its resources and informants.

The baby was involved. They would have been told of enough.

Fumito wasn't smiling or wearing the mask he wore to appease and fool herbivores. His face was like a mask, blank and wooden, but that was Fumito as he was, unpainted and revealed. Father was frowning, the lines of his face deepened. Mother was studying him carefully, like there was something interesting in the bandages covering his wounds, or the bruises on his skin.

Kyoya glowered at their worry, because he did not want or need pity, and _they were crowding_.

"Is the person responsible for this dead?" Mother asked at last, one finger tapping against the windowsill she stood next to. The bird he decided to keep was there, curiosity the only thing in its beady eyes as it stared at the richly dressed woman who wore heavy makeup to look the age she claimed to be.

His glower deepened, and Fumito's lips tightened.

Having received her answer from that response, she asked the next question. "Will they stay alive?"

Would Rokudo Mukuro stay alive?

He could have excused the defeat, put fault to that ridiculous disease and the pink petals that triggered it. He could claim the handicap as the reason to his injuries, and loss.

He could, if he was anyone but Hibari Kyoya.

Kyoya despised Rokudo Mukuro, for using what wasn't real to settle the fight and daring to think that it would be enough to hold him down the next time. He was strong, that he would acknowledge, but he despised him.

He narrowed his eyes. His mother asked two things. If he wanted to keep Rokudo Mukuro alive, or if it happened to be that he could not end the man himself.

The former was not something he would consider. He would bite Rokudo Mukuro to death.

The latter was merely a question of when. He did not need the assistance she offered him.

"No."

Fumito exhaled, and his face lost the wooden quality. The frowns in Father's face smoothed out until it was just the usual lines around his eyes. Mother nodded.

"I'll go speak with the doctor," she said softly, the silk covering her steel again, and the demure mask that almost covered up her true personality, just enough to fool duller herbivores returned.

Father nodded at him and left without a word at her side. Left behind, Fumito took a seat on the bed and sighed quietly, before smiling at Kyoya.

"What do you want for lunch?" he asked, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves, playing at a man relaxed.

"Sushi." He had no intention of eating the hospital food.

Fumito hummed. "TakeSushi's closed today. How about hamburger steak instead?"

That was acceptable. Kyoya nodded.

* * *

Most days, Bianchi didn't regret leaving to be a hitman before her mother could impart all her knowledge. Some might say it was foolish, when the expert in the field was her own mother and willing teacher, to not take advantage of what she had been given, but they didn't realize.

Or rather, they didn't understand – that while Bianchi had inherited much from her mother, like her appearance and magical talent, she was her own person. She wasn't interested in being the second coming of the Scorpion, the master of potions and poisons. She wasn't interested in being the next head of her mother's coven.

She needed to forge her own path, and she couldn't do that if she just followed her mother.

Monica had respected her wishes and given her freedom, reminding her father when he protested that he still owed her for Lavina and Hayato. He had quietened after that, and Monica merely gave Bianchi her blessings and told her to call if she needed anything as if the air wasn't suddenly stiff on both Bianchi and her father's sides.

It was only slightly spoiled by the fact that Monica used her brother as blackmail, but it was still an expression of love.

Bianchi called regularly. Not often, but enough, mostly to keep in touch with her mother. She didn't mind being the Poison Scorpion, because she liked scorpions and she respected her mother, and she was being her own person, and it wasn't something like the Second Scorpion or Scorpion Junior. The life of a hitman was a dangerous one, but it was hers, and it was worth it. She fell in love, explored becoming herself, got a tattoo – not in that order. The first and last brought Monica's disapproval, but the second gave her the ability to shrug it off.

Hearing from the ranking prince himself that she was third most dangerous in the ranks of the most poisonous killing techniques had made her proud. On the top of that list, of course, had been her mother, and that was a goal to reach and surpass, but still – third. She had been so proud.

And gotten complacent. Rokudo Mukuro got her and she couldn't even do her job properly. Reborn was happy because opportunity for a student, great, but Bianchi wasn't.

Monica hummed after hearing everything Bianchi told her. It wasn't in full detail – she did, after all, have to keep certain things secret – but the key elements had been relayed.

 _"Do you want to come back?"_ Monica offered at last.

Did she want to go back, learn more from her mother so that the next time, she wouldn't be so easily placed under contract?

A part of her said yes. It was embarrassing, a strike to her pride, and Bianchi bristled that she had fallen for such a trick. Only Reborn saying that even he hadn't seen such a synchronicity to the bullets appeased her, and even then only somewhat, because that was no excuse.

Bianchi loved her family. She loved her father, loved her mother, and loved her brother.

But the reason for that was because they were family, and they hadn't yet given her a reason to consider them as . . . not.

Was she aware of how imperfect they all were – herself included? Every day. Her father cheated on her mother, and while their union hadn't been of love, there had been trust, and a promise, and it had been broken terribly.

Her mother was always so busy – with the Family, with the coven – that time together was precious and few. The majority of their interactions that Bianchi remembered were all lessons on magic.

And Hayato –

Bianchi sighed. It was one thing to know there was something odd, something not – _optimal_ – and another thing entirely to see and experience for herself something better. Warmer.

She would be lying if she said that she didn't like Sawada Nana, and the Sawada household. That it didn't feel like a home, that she didn't safe in it. Safe. That she didn't envy Tsuna even when he was scolded, because there was proximity there, a warm concern.

Not the distance she had grown up with. Monica was content that Bianchi had been born with her talent in magic, and so long as Bianchi accepted that part of herself – which she did, wholeheartedly – and she was healthy and alive, Monica had no concerns. She told her and Hayato stories of the occult when they were young, and every interaction had a lesson taught towards her true love.

Her true love had always been, and always would be, magic.

Bianchi tried cracking a joke, because she didn't really want to think about how her mother did love her, just that the half of what made her was a reminder of a man who broke a promise with a cunning woman who held her grudges and let them fuel her poison and that would never change no matter what she did. "I'm still in the middle of a job, so I was hoping for something like a few grimoires or tips. Like homeschooling."

Monica hummed, the pitch that of disappointed disapproval.

She threw down the next card she had. "There's also someone you might be interested in."

The head of a coven who had married to secure fellow cunning folk expressed her interest, and Bianchi told her all about the young hitman with a lot of raw potential despite never having been taught the ways of the cunning folk. Bianchi had no qualms about throwing M.M. under the charging chariot that was Monica.

 _"And she's currently held by the_ Vindice _?"_ There were two ways that tone could be interpreted, since Bianchi couldn't see the face Monica was making. It could be that she was expressing no desire to get involved with the Vindice, or that she couldn't believe Bianchi was offering someone in the custody of the Vindice as a bargaining chip, a possible future student.

Which was fair. It _was_ the Vindice.

"Can't get more desperate than that," Bianchi pointed out. And she was getting pretty desperate too, if she was suggesting her mother make a deal with the Vindice to get a prisoner into her custody to take as a student. Gods, but she sounded so insane when she put it that way.

There was a moment of silence, and then –

 _"I'll send some books from my personal collection over,"_ said Monica. _"We will talk more when you have more time so I can give you advice tailor-suited to your current skill level. You should also consider interacting with some locals, see if you can learn new things and fit it into your own practice."_

Inwardly, Bianchi cheered.

* * *

It was before twilight when they escaped, that short span of time between day and night when no sun hung in the sky, and yet, the entire world was not fully dark. _L'heure entre chien et loup_ , that hour between the dog and the wolf – when, in the horizon, the twilight didn't let the eye make out in certain detail whether that canine figure in the distance was the dog or the wolf.

Friend, a dog he could trust, or foe, a hungry beast that would sink its fangs into his throat.

The time was thus so that the sky, dimly illuminated with no sun in sight, looked so broad and wide that if he wasn't in the middle of breaking out of the Vindice's prison, Mukuro might have taken a moment to observe it.

Observe the sky. What an out-of-character thing for him to do. He hadn't observed the sky, or anything not relevant in his quest of destruction, not for years, not since the Estra Neo's experiments.

Even in this dim light, though, Mukuro wouldn't have difficulty telling apart his dogs and wolves. The only two he would ever consider his dogs were at his side, in the same white garbs of prisoners as he.

The wolves were in pursuit, and they would catch up. And this time, due to their record, the Vindice's security on them would increase, because Rokudo Mukuro had made fools of them twice now.

Mukuro held no love for the Vindice, just like the mafia, but he could admit to their skill. It had been hard enough escaping, and he could feel the plan falling through, breaking down.

What would he have done, before? Back when he hadn't spared the sky a glance, too focused on destruction, on spreading the pain he felt inside to the filth of the world?

He would have used everything at his command and slipped away. Ken, Chikusa, his own body. 'Live', as a ghastly spirit haunting and possessing other bodies to carry out his goal until he succeeded, or until he disappeared.

And now?

It hadn't mattered to Mukuro, once, about whether that silhouette in the distant horizon was a dog or a wolf. Everyone was an enemy to him, a wolf that would kill him if he didn't first kill it.

But in the dark of the night a full moon's light had broken the shadows and lit a wolf's shape for him clearly, and the wolf hadn't ripped him to shreds.

Even if he could have. Even if he could have ended Mukuro then and there.

And Mukuro was in twilight, uncertain about that one figure, unable to fully define Sawada Tsunayoshi as a wolf or a dog.

For now.

"What do we do, Mukuro-san?" asked Ken. His breath was heavy from exertion, and beads of sweat ran down his face. Chikusa was in a similar condition, and he saved his breath, not bothering to use them on repeating the question.

Sawada Tsunayoshi wasn't a dog, but he wasn't a wolf, either. Or maybe he was just going about this the wrong way, using comparisons that didn't fit. Metaphors only went so far, after all – eventually, they fell over, because a symbol could never fully represent the whole thing.

Even as part of him waxed poetics, Mukuro was focused as needed on the task at hand. The Vindice were not to be underestimated, after all, and Mukuro had not just himself, but two others with him.

His dogs. The two that would not bare their fangs at him.

And maybe it was that the canine figure in the twilight wasn't a dog or a wolf, but rather a fox, who taught the little prince on what it meant to change, through interactions with others.

Mukuro came up with a plan, hinging on the bruised pride of the Vindice, his talents, and Ken and Chikusa. Tired as they were, they'd been through worse. They, all three of them, had known worse. Back when they were younger, more powerless, more vulnerable.

This?

Mukuro briefly thought about dying and being reborn on the same cold, sterile metal table, the pain of the soul and body screaming for it all to stop, the limbo of Hades he slipped into when he wasn't fully dead.

'Living', since the destruction of the Estraneo, in a blood-tinged haze. A zombie animated only by the vicious desire for vengeance against this world and everything in it. Always on the edge of madness, too much of the abyss between his body and soul for him to truly be himself more than he was a vessel for hell.

Until he lost, was stopped and not killed, but was still reborn. And everything changed – both externally, as in his new place of residence he was currently fleeing, and internally, as in his newly settled soul.

And had he ever felt saner than he did now, more alive?

Something in him sparked, and it was a pleasant, almost exhilarating feeling.

"We separate," he answered as the last dim light of twilight ended. The hour of the dog and wolf was up.

The ghosts of his hells did not haunt him now. There were no screams in his ear, no dissociation from his own body, no feeling of being tied to his body with a tether that could slip loose any moment.

He was his own, in a way he had never been since he was Rokudo Mukuro. He was _alive_ , in a way that he had never been.

Ken and Chikusa protested, loyal beings that they were, and that solidified Mukuro's decision. They would faithfully wait for him in freedom, hidden and serving as his hands where he couldn't.

"You'll only get in my way," he said confidently, because if a lie was told with enough conviction, it could pass as the truth.

That was how illusions became reality.

They were reluctant to flee without him. Perhaps he wasn't as good as a liar as he was to them, or maybe they just knew him too well to fall for the lie, but they wouldn't disobey his orders, and so Ken and Chikusa fled.

Admittedly, it wasn't much of a plan, and that, with the lack of resources he had at his disposal, the only thing Mukuro could aim for was buying time.

If he had aimed for victory, he would have lost. Not letting their guard down around him, the three guards pursing them focused on him, and him only.

Mukuro put up a fight to prove it was actually him, present here and now, but surrendered when he saw no other way to keep himself from grievous injuries.

"You stayed behind so your subordinates could escape," said the Vindice who captured him when his illusions gave way. Sharp, as expected of those that guarded the impregnable fortress. Their reputation was well-earned.

"Should we pursue the other two?" asked the one furthest from him, dark cloak swirling around him. Mukuro kept his head down and didn't react. It wasn't hard, the cuff was heavy around his neck and pressed him down.

"No," said the one holding him, after an eternity of a moment. "This one is the mastermind. Without him they are nothing."

He gambled himself and won.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, the Vindice's prison wasn't as impregnable as the mafia seemed to believe.

Yes, the penitentiary was impressive, but it was more the reputation of the Vindice that made it so infamous. It was rather hard to escape the avengers that could appear without warning.

Unless one had been deceiving them for centuries and had been wandering in and out of the prison since they built it. In which case the prison was less a place to be feared and avoided at all cost and more a place to be visited periodically, like the bank. Secretly, of course, because he was never invited, but periodically. Even if he never used it, Acheron registered it into his mind as a backup, had ever since the Vindice made it in the hopes of catching him.

A bank. Technically, the 'tellers' were eager to see him again for business, so it was an apt metaphor.

Acheron usually visited the Vindice prison for Arcobaleno-related purposes. The Vindice knew that his primary target for Arcobaleno were criminals with powerful Flames – the same as they had been, once. They made an effort to keep an eye and control over possible candidates by declaring themselves the law keepers of the mafia.

(Which was funny, in the way the most ironic of things were. That the ghosts of those who had once been the worst of the worst would declare themselves keepers of law and order, even among the mafia. Ha. Ha ha. Ha.

His own ghosts would have laughed at this. Or maybe they would have wept for the ones that couldn't move on, the ones that were seized in hatred towards the sins he carried as the representatives of the fourteen that had tried so hard to keep the world alive with the fewest sacrifices.)

A part of him applauded their resolution, strong enough to defy death and continue their hatred for centuries, taking on their positions all for the sake of finding him. Back when Bermuda first survived and began gathering others to join his crusade, Acheron had moved to kill them, only to be stopped by Sephira.

(He had been alive for over a thousand years, they – those that were still alive – all were, and from the first time when they started the ritual of the rainbow Acheron knew he would gladly get his own hands dirty a hundred, a thousand times if it meant he could take a load off Sephira's shoulders.

He had been tired, and worn, and shaking with guilt and grief and disgust, but whatever he felt would have been a thousand times worse for Sephira, and he couldn't see her be crushed by the weight of the world.

He couldn't.)

What face would the proud avenger make, if he knew that the reason why he and his merry band of vengeful mummies were only alive because of the words of an unconditionally loving woman who accepted the death he couldn't? Because his desperate struggle and self-immolation with the Flame of the Night like a corrupted phoenix reminded her of when she herself defied destruction and transcended? Because she was always in awe of life, always appreciated the beauty of every single, unique life despite their numbering in the billions?

That even if it was foolish, the grudge more harmful than beneficial, Sephira wished they would be able to find release themselves instead of continuing to suffer under the weight of vengeance?

Maybe one day he would tell them the whole story and ask the question, just to see what the answer was. He could just wipe their memories afterwards.

(Sephira stopped him, merciful and benevolent and unable to give up on those she saw as having wronged – even if it was the choice that led to the least loss of life, she took that burden upon herself, bore that guilt on top of everything else she already carried.)

His mood soured. Or maybe he wouldn't, because it didn't matter.

An illusion cast over himself, the cameras, and all the minds of the Vindice, Acheron slipped into the penitentiary. He had been here just a few days ago, to see why the former Arcobaleno were stirring. Once he realized it was because of a jailbreak, Acheron had lost interest. Yes, they were coming to Namimori, but that was because of the Vongola Decimo being the eye of the storm. Nothing he would need to worry about, Acheron had thought.

Proof that he was not a seer was thrown in his face, though it wasn't as painful as actual vitriolage. The future brought results different from what he expected, and there was, in fact, a cause for worry related to the cloaked avengers haunting this world, looking for his alternate persona.

Today he wasn't here to look for potential Arcobaleno candidates – a habit, to make sure there were always at least three possible candidates for each Flame, because he had already failed once and he learned from his mistake and the loss it brought him – or to see what the Vindice were up to. He'd end up doing that, because he liked to be efficient, but that was on the side.

Today Acheron's main purpose was to see a trio of prisoners he would normally never even bother giving a glance towards. They lacked the resolve for the Flames he looked for and weren't important or related to any of his businesses.

Until they became involved. And with their involvement, so too did he.

Acheron personally liked to think he wasn't very vengeful. At least, not anymore. Peitho had always said so, as she taught him how to fight battles of social interactions, how to cut someone to shreds with a verbal blade. But she had acknowledged that he was pragmatic, and that he did what was necessary at the end of the day and declared his lessons complete centuries before she died.

(But then again Peitho always returned the favor sevenfold, _minimum_ , to both boons and insults, so maybe he _was_ vengeful, just not as much as Peitho.)

Would this be considered vengeance, then? The man and his underlings were already in prison. The strongest, most feared prison in the world, at that. Regardless of the weight of their crimes, to take a life was always with consequences.

Acheron looked down at the frail man, and the twin hitmen, and then reached out to touch their foreheads, brushing his fingertips against each of them.

The Vindice called themselves the law-keepers, but truth be told, they were hardly keepers of justice. They might have gotten a little _too_ into the role of inflicting terror – poor taste, truly – but their main goal had never changed, ever since Bermuda Von Beckenstein filled his dying body with black Flames not of the original seven. They went after those they knew he would most likely pick, those that might be conventionally called 'evil', for their crimes, their twisted minds, their resolve turned to harm, and it wasn't difficult for the Vindice to find them.

After all, like recognized like, and they had centuries to perfect their profiling.

They arrested Rokudo Mukuro because of the potential he showed, the power he had, the havoc he had wreaked. It wasn't wrong, per say, on their part. Acheron now had him on the list of potential Arcobaleno he kept just in case. But it was only now. Before his run-in with Sawada Tsunayoshi, Acheron hadn't given the cursed boy more than a second glance. His soul was too disconnected from his body, his mind too entrapped by the torture he'd been through. His resolve was too brittle.

Acheron sighed as all traces of Tomoe Hotaru were erased from the minds of the hitmen, the process not gentle or careful in any way. They had minimal memories of her, but it never hurt to be thorough. Well, it didn't hurt anyone except these three to be thorough.

With that business done, he went to check on those in the deepest cells of his prison. A walking corpse, essentially, was all Rokudo Mukuro had been. A zombie, not unlike the Vindice themselves. Living while possessed by the influences of the world of the dead, a victim-turned-perpetrator, one that would not become a perpetrator-turned victim like the involuntary Arcobaleno.

And yet. And yet.

He drifted down the halls, to the deepest prisons. Rokudo Mukuro had escaped yet again, taking with him Joshima Ken and Kakimoto Chikusa. The Vindice were in pursuit now, and if Acheron was to make a bet, he would place his money on the undead keepers of 'justice'. Someone like Rokudo Mukuro? The Vindice would likely place in the underwater cell, keeping him held under strict watch in the hopes of drawing in the altered ego he wore when he cursed them.

Bait. An effective one, because unlike before Rokudo Mukuro was now truly someone he would keep on the list, if only out of habit.

The blessing given by the princess of the moon all those years ago had finally come into effect, clearing the harm done to Rokudo Mukuro and re-establishing the frayed bond between body and soul, leaving him stronger, far more stable than he had been.

A miracle, and neither Rokudo Mukuro nor Sawada Tsunayoshi would ever know what truly happened, what it meant.

Only Acheron, who had all the puzzle pieces, could understand the how and why.

Sephira always kept her promises, and proof of it took place indirectly in a way Acheron hadn't dreamed of. Like a Rube Goldberg machine, going roundabout in a way that seemed completely unrelated and irrelevant to the end objective. Almost unnecessary.

He wouldn't deny that a part of him had been foolish enough to hope she would – _somehow_ – return from the dead and fulfill the promise she made Giotto.

Just like Acheron had hoped, when Chiba Mamoru was born and the Arcobaleno were needed for the first time in nearly two hundred years. Just like he had hoped when the sailor soldiers began to awaken to face the threats closing onto Earth. Just like he had hoped when Chiba Mamoru was murdered by Sailor Galaxia, and the Golden Crystal taken.

Just like those times, he was left disappointed by the reality that Sephira was not resurrected, or reborn, or returned. And though he was used to the feeling, it still left him crushed.

(And really, Acheron shouldn't have been – because Sephira had never promised that she would come back, and he knew it. Knew why.

But still.

He hoped, and he hurt.)

* * *

"You may call me a genius," crackled the voice of their tech support over the phone on speaker. "Well, us. Tarragon was pretty damn awesome, too, so she can also be called a genius."

"What did you find?" Iemitsu asked, because left to his own devices, Sorrel would go off on a tangent. He needed to be pulled back in.

"Well, first, Tomoe Hotaru. Boring life, clean stuff. _Too_ clean, you know? But nothing that can really be picked out because there is a bit of a paper trail, even for a – I'm probably butchering this but let me try – hikikomori. How'd I do?"

"Not bad."

"Thanks." Iemitsu could hear his best hacker preening over the phone. "So, Hiki-girl, but otherwise nothing wrong with records, I _suppose_. Suspicious, but nothing solid to pick at, because _rather suspiciously_ her parents were also rather reclusive before they died. Rrgh."

That was him being dramatic. Iemitsu waited, giving him time to unveil his findings. It was faster this way.

"So. Evidence tells me there's nothing to look at, but my gut instincts are like, bitch please? Which means I can't _not_ scratch that itch. I dig into the people _around_ her, because fine, if you're going to be all mysterious on me, I'll take the long way and make it more fun. The journey, not the destination. I probably used that idiom wrong but screw it. See the screen?"

On his screen – and on Oregano's and Turmeric's – appeared the pictures of the three women said to be Tomoe's parents. Adopted, legal guardians, but considered parents by the girl.

"Tomoe Riku and Tomoe Keiko were out – nothing I could get about them worth something at first, second and third glances, at least not without Tarragon checking anyone who knew them in person, which was just going to take way too long. But these three are still alive and they have a far better trail left behind, and you know I love myself a quick payoff. Did some cracking, fascinating ladies achieving things, can I get a yaaas, queen?"

Basil wasn't here to be an obliging audience, which meant that Oregano and Turmeric silently argued with their eyes before Turmeric lost, as was inevitable. He did put up a good three seconds of struggling for the sake of his dignity, which was more than most of CEDEF could say.

"Yaaas, queen," he said flatly, looking like he wanted lightning to strike him dead that very moment.

"Sing it like you mean it, brother, because these queens deserve it. Tenou is a hella fast car racer who's got fans that could probably circle Tokyo a few times if you lined them all up. Kaiou made a name for herself through her magical playing – seriously, the reviews that are left on her performance are always like 'it's magical' and 'amazing' and 'enchanting' and I'm not a classical person, I'll admit, but she's good – and she's rich, on top of that, like a princess or something. And Meiou, like, damn girl, she's got herself a doctorate in theoretical physics, something involving time and space and stuff – her thesis and some papers she's written are on your screens – and she's also into fashion design. Her grandfather's a famous designer, been to New York and Paris and all the snazzy fashion cities for the shows. I have her portfolio too, though she hasn't been as active on the fashion front recently."

Oregano narrowed her eyes. "We've already established this in our first background check."

"I know, I did some of the work for it, like hello? I checked more, and I mean _more_. Went back to the good old days, of high school, which I assume was not like Mean Girls for these badass ladies. Tenou and Kaiou are together – like, _the_ ideal butch and femme couple, I can't even at how perfect they look together – and have been since high school, when they first met. Now, they both graduated from this place called 'Juban Municipal High School', but! But, but, but! They did not originally attend this school!"

Several articles about 'Mugen Academy' came up on screen. One of the articles was about the academy being permanently closed after severe damages to its campus, which had fortunately been empty of students at the time of its destruction.

"'Disappearances'?" Turmeric read the cause for the school having been closed before it was destroyed and shut down for good. "Of students?"

" _Mm_ -hm. Fancy school where a lot of celebs and talented kids went, couldn't have its students just _vanishing_ , so they closed it while investigations were going on and then all of a sudden, freak storm in Juban and boom, the delta district the school was in is _wrecked_ , campus taking the direct hit and being utterly destroyed, business is over, nothing else to see here folks, move on – and the masses did because you know, it's been years and no one cares. Now, that's all fascinating, yes, I agree, but. Mugen Academy – 'infinity academy', nice, nice – was a place where a lot of talented kids attended, our dear Tenou and Kaiou included. I'm talking idols, sports stars, geniuses – genii? Whatever. You name talent, they have it. Had."

Pictures of students in uniform appeared, and though their faces were younger, they could recognize Tenou Haruka and Kaiou Michiru.

"Meiou herself did not attend, but she was a student – first year – at KO University, _really_ close to the delta where the academy is at the time. The name of the three buildings on the corners of the delta at the time, though, were the same as the family names of the ladies. Can our local Japanese man tell us the meaning of these surnames, please?"

Tenou, Kaiou, Meiou. "Heavenly King, Ocean King, Dark King."

"Edgy," commented Sorrel. "Like the three ho-loving bros of Greek myths. Zeus, Poseidon and Hades. My favorite was Hades. All three were rapists and dicks, but at least the last one was less dicky than his bros."

"Uranus," muttered Iemitsu, mind flying back to something else.

"No, Boss, that's Grandpa dearest. He's the dick that got his actual dick cut off by his son, who was also a dick because he tried to eat his own children but then got overthrown by _his_ son, king-dick-the-third, in some delicious dicking karma. Or, well, I guess more of an asshole."

"I'm not talking about the myths," Iemitsu said, even though he was unsure as to why he felt this was important to mention. His Hyper Intuition was strongest in a fight, and even now it was faint, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was important. "Tenou-sei, Kaiou-sei, Meiou-sei. Those three buildings were likely named after the Japanese names for Uranus, Neptune and Pluto – the planets."

Sorrel paused as he processed that. "Huh. Learn something new every day."

There was nothing more that he could get, though, and Iemitsu gave up, deciding to file that away for later. "Is there more to this?"

"Unfortunately, other than the ladies having lived in the buildings with their respective names – I don't know why, but I don't blame them for wanting to live in the building literally named after them, because if there was a place with my name I'd live in the basement next to the boiler if I had to – there's no further connections. You want to know the name of the principal and owner of the academy when the school was closed, though?"

Sorrel sounded gleeful, and he didn't wait until any of them had replied before a profile of a man with white hair in a lab coat came up on-screen. His face was set sternly – a cold look, that of someone who spared little warmth to anyone. He wore glasses, but one of the lenses – the one over his right eye – was covered. A gadget of sorts, maybe.

" _Tomoe_ Souichi. A charming – I say this full of irony and sarcasm, for anyone not fluent in my native tongue – scientist kicked out of the scientific community for his unfortunate habits in unethical experimentation on his quest for super life. Isn't that family name a little familiar? Can I hear a what-what?"

Iemitsu raised an eyebrow. "Tell me you didn't bring this to our attention just because of a shared last name."

"You insult me, oh great leader mine." There was no real malice or insult in Sorrel's voice, just playfulness. "You speak to a pro. I needed more tangible evidence, so I dug like a bit – not even all that hard, you know – and pop! Like squeezing a zit, hit the motherload, the crowd goes wild! He had family. I say had, because his wife died a few years before he and his daughter did."

Two more profiles came up. A wife – Tomoe Keiko, which might have drawn Iemitsu's attention had it not already been taken up by the picture of the other profile. A daughter, who looked almost identical to the girl that had become friends with his son, give or take a few years. The same girl with a mysterious past and powers that weren't Flames, from what Reborn could discern.

"Her name?" whispered Sorrel, even though everyone could read it for themselves. "Tomoe _Hotaru_. Cue the dramatic leitmotif and me mic-dropping and moonwalking out. Praise me, I totally deserve it."

Oregano adjusted her glasses as she read through the reports. "Her birthday's the same, just different years," she pointed out. "And – she and her father both died in the school's collapse?"

"Coroner's report was fairly straightforward, death due to being crushed by falling rubble, cremated pretty soon after. Same with the father. Honestly, the guy was _not nice_ , and not just because of what I'm going to share with you shortly after. Tomoe Souichi had a reputation for being a _creepy_ person – like, mad scientist type, y'know? The whole reason why he got expelled from the scientific community was because of repeated cruel experiments on animals and his push for further experimentations on people for the sake of science, or as I feel like it should be said in this case, 'Science!'"

"What else?" Iemitsu pressed. Mysterious ages? Fine, he could deal with that, he knew about Arcobaleno and the presence of mysterious things in this world. What he wanted to know was how this might threaten his family.

"Well, Tarragon was about to head to Japan after she finished her work digging into the Estraneo because of Rokudo effing Mukuro, trying to see if there's anything we can work with on that end – you really picked a wild card as a candidate, BTW, chief, he might make or break your son, and as a betting man I'm leaning more towards 'break' at this point cuz he is _so_ cray – when she found a _very_ interesting name that we've seen before."

Information regarding the Estraneo's research were near-impossible to find. They had been destroyed, along with the family, by the boy now revealed to be Rokudo Mukuro in vengeance. Rather than focus on tracking the destroyed evidence of humanity's greed and potential for terrible tragedies, Tarragon had dug instead into the family's dealings prior to their banishment from the community. Not the content, but what helped the content come to be.

She tracked the path of the money.

"Tarragon found that one of the reasons why Lancia's family was targeted was because an underboss got involved with the Estraneo – and by involved, I mean funded their research. At least, that's what she thinks, because following that trend, the families that were attacked by Lancia – under Rokudo's control – had some kind of connection to the Estraneo. Give the lady a bonus, she did some incredible work, boss."

"She always does, as do you."

Sorrel paused, as he always did when met with a genuine compliment, chatter replaced with awkward silence. "Err. Thanks. Um. Well, anyways, she found an interesting name in where they spent their money. A huge chunk of their finances – like, I'm talking, arm and leg made of diamond kind of money – was paid to a Tomoe Souichi for 'consultation fees'. Three guesses to what for and the first two don't count."

"Research about biological experimentations," deduced Oregano, troubled by the conclusions she drew. She wasn't alone in that. From Reborn's reports, they'd already seen the kind of results such things could bring, the danger it signified.

"I love working with smart people, it makes my job so much more fun when they keep up with my brilliance," said Sorrel with a sigh. "Found a connection with the Machina Family's past records, when I checked just in case, by the way. Tomoe Souichi might have passed away a few years back but man, was his research _wanted_. Remember how the Machina family tried to make a move into Japan some years back?"

Iemitsu did. Nono had commissioned Reborn to deal with them before they could, trying to not reveal the connection between Iemitsu and the Sawada family in Namimori. Tsuna had still been a baby, and back then it had looked like his son could live a peaceful life not filled with blood and death like his.

Back then, Matteo had been alive, and Gabriel hadn't hated his guts.

"That might have actually been because of the _illustrious_ Professor Tomoe," Sorrel said. "They just wanted to snag up the professor and convince him to join the machine side because they have computer chip cookies or something. They probably didn't even know about your family, boss-man. I'd say we owe them an apology except we really don't, they were dicks, and everyone knew it."

Turmeric raised his eyes, somber and serious. "Tomoe's connection?"

"Speculation at this point, but let's be real, does that look like coincidence to you?" In his mind's eye, Iemitsu could see Sorrel waving his hands at the computer screen like the pixels spoke for themselves. "A girl whose legal guardians _coincidentally_ have connections to a school owned by a creepy scientist with a daughter _coincidentally_ sharing the same name and god-damn appearance? Even their _birthday's_ the same, for crying out loud, just ten years apart! A girl with connections to a Famiglia that experimented on and was consequentially slaughtered by a guy who just so _coincidentally_ went after the next boss of the Vongola?"

Sorrel inhaled sharply at the end of that long rant, replenishing the air voided from his lungs. "I. Think. Not. And you can fight me on this."

"Preaching to the choir," Iemitsu said, mind racing. The most dangerous enemies weren't the ones that approached head-on, like Joshima Ken or Kakimoto Chikusa, or even the ones that outright tried something like Rokudo Mukuro. If Tomoe Hotaru had ulterior motives to approaching his son as a friend, then the outcome could be disastrous.

But that was the life he had condemned his son to, wasn't it? The legacy he had left him. Not the protection he had wanted for him, or a normal life. A path of blood and pain and darkness, one he would be forced to walk just because of his father and the blood that ran in his veins.

Iemitsu had failed several times in his life, but this was the worst of his failures.

Sorrel wasn't done. "More about Tomoe Hotaru – the 'dead' one, air quotes, coming up."

Accident – fire – that left her severely injured, though the hospital records were rather bare after those claims. Mother lost in the same accident, raised by father. Attended Mugen Academy, good grades but no social life until her death, or any activities, clubs or otherwise.

"Her father was the one providing medical care to her," said Sorrel. "Which sounds like a _fantastic_ idea to me, no red flags in ethics popping up _there_. No records of just _what_ kind of care he provided to her and given his field of expertise we don't want to assume anything except, you know, the worst, but Tarragon thinks she was also bullied in school."

That was a change in subject. "Explain?"

"She interviewed a few of Tomoe's classmates after I tracked them down, 'convinced' them to spill what they really thought, instead of beautifying their memories with the dead – death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders and all that – or lying their faces off trying to look like they weren't bloodthirsty bitches being bullies. Tomoe was pretty 'freaky', according to them, because her dad was a known weirdo and she always wore dark clothes or clothes that covered up everything and she was always sick."

Wearing dark, covering clothes to hide wounds were something all of CEDEF's field agents were unfortunately familiar with. "With what?"

"They didn't know, just said that she was super frail and stuff. Poor health." Sorrel huffed. "Cuz, you know, building full of fire wouldn't burn any skin or damage lungs, right?"

And Tomoe Hotaru – the one in Namimori – had also suffered from poor health until recently. With the power to erase burns by healing them.

There were just too many snags for it to be brushed off as a mere coincidence.

"Here's my theory," Sorrel offered, perhaps as a way to decrease tension, or perhaps just to throw in his own two cents on top of the bank load he had spilled. "The original Tomoe Hotaru died. Or, or, or, she was sick and stuff, or severely injured from the accident. So, Tomoe Souichi, using his highly unethical science and data gathered from experimentations, made a clone of his daughter with the intention of replacing her organs once the clone had aged enough, and maybe added some powers with his research into super life forms or something, like accelerated healing abilities or something else."

What did it say about his life, Iemitsu thought, that this wild theory Sorrel was spinning off honestly didn't sound implausible? He had to remind himself to not get set preconceptions.

"Then, the accident happened, and both he and the original died, and the clone was taken by Tenou and Kaiou and Meiou, to be raised in a normal life. Heck, maybe the accident itself was the original girl just snapping from the stress of bullies and pulling a Carrie. Except, you know, not going after the people who actually drove her to do it. Or didn't she?"

"Sorrel," said Turmeric, a warning tone in his voice. Sorrel was good at what he did – that is to say, hacking and analyzing information – but he also did have a bit of a wild imagination, and he sometimes let that bias cloud his eyes. It didn't help that he loved conspiracies, and that he dealt with information that was sometimes even more outlandish than any conspiracy theories. "No conjectures."

"What? The timeline fits! It fits so perfectly that I can't _not_ believe this to be real! Don't you shake your head and cluck your tongue at me, you blockhead! Use your imagination!"

Oregano eyed him in concern as Sorrel and Turmeric bickered over the line. He had already been intending on heading to Namimori to give the rings to Tsuna, but now he had another reason.

What did he know, for certain? Reborn had assessed Tomoe Hotaru to be genuinely fond of Tsuna, and if that was all he needed, Iemitsu might have been able to make himself relax.

But Tomoe Hotaru had too much unknown variables about her, and Iemitsu could not take the chance of relying on an unknown's fondness alone for his son's safety.

"Get a copy of this report to Reborn," he said at last. "And keep us updated."

They were going to have to check everyone, dig even further than they had in the preliminary searches. Reborn was annoyed that they hadn't noticed this, Lal was annoyed that Reborn was being pissy, and CEDEF was annoyed – in the way one was annoyed when their jobs were just quadrupled in amount and they had several all-nighters to look forward to – so it would be a fun couple of weeks, just like it had been since Rokudo Mukuro.

No rest for the wicked.

"Roger that, chief."

* * *

"Illusions," Mukuro whispered. "Are a fight with not just your opponent, but reality itself."

He was the first person to tell her that he needed her, the first person to ever say such a thing – to find and define a worth in her that no one else, not even the mother who had given birth to her or herself – had been able to find until her death.

Fujiwara Nagi died, Chrome Dokuro was born, and without Rokudo Mukuro, Chrome Dokuro could not exist.

He praised her when she met his expectations, gently corrected her when she made mistakes, and gave her a meaning in herself.

She was enough, he said. She was needed, he told her.

And he hadn't lied to her. It had not been in reality they met, but he gave her a reality of her own.

"The best illusionists are those who have a reality – something that can ground them and keep their own senses from being lost in the illusions they weave." He chuckled. "After all, if you are lost to the illusions, then you are merely caught up in a dream you cannot control."

It didn't have to be anything big, he said, or intricate. And yet, it should be significant, and important.

Mukuro became her first reality, and after meeting them, because of the shared connection to the imprisoned man that was their light and reason for living, Ken and Chikusa.

Her master laughed when she told him this. Clutching at his sides, even though they could not hurt in this dream world they met in and wiping at his eyes, he was filled with mirth, and the memory of that moment was one of Chrome's most cherished treasures. Even if he was like a reflection on the water's surface, something that could never be grabbed, and she had never met him, there was something connecting them, a bond that transcended the physical realm.

It just _was_ , and Chrome relished the bond grounding her to reality.

"What's your reality?" Chrome once dared to ask. Maybe a part of her hoped that his reality was her. The more realistic – but still dreaming – part of her said that it would likely be Ken and Chikusa. Still dreaming, because maybe one day she, too, could be what he used to define reality by. Be that significant to him. Be useful, have a purpose.

A pensive light crossed his face. "It used to be pain."

Pain. The sharp, crushing pain of the accident was still fresh in her mind, as was the empty feeling when her master's illusions were gone, and her body started to fail. The long, drawn-out pain of being alone, being ignored, being stifled – like being lost, unable to find the light in a dark tunnel no matter how much she ran, how much she reached out.

Those, Chrome thought, could easily be reality. But it would be a reality she would want to deny, a reality she would not be drawn to over her illusions.

A reality that couldn't hold her by any other way except brute force.

"And now . . ." he trailed off. "And now, I suppose it is something else."

She did not ask again, only continued to work harder so that she could be of better use.

* * *

The lesson today was on history – the history of the Golden Kingdom, and more specifically, about the temple of Elysion.

"While it has been refurnished and rebuilt over the centuries," said his tutor, an old man with a silvered beard that was carefully groomed. "The temple was first established by King Aeneas, shortly after his marriage to Queen Lavinia and his creating the Golden Kingdom."

Endymion listened, eager to hear more. The temple was a mystery, and its priests hidden. Those who entered to take the robes were not permitted out until they were of age.

"Unlike most temples at the time – and indeed, even now," continued his tutor. "King Aeneas created the temple of Elysion not to worship or praise the gods of heaven, but rather to venerate those of the earth. He made it clear that it was not the heavens that would decide his path, or that of his kingdom's, but the good earth itself, and his own decisions."

Endymion frowned. "But we pray to the gods."

The older man smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening in mirth and obvious pride. "Indeed, we do. Time changes things, does it not, my prince?"

It did. He scowled slightly.

"How would the earth determine our paths?" he questioned and fought to not flush when his voice broke in the middle of his words. It had been doing that recently, and Father merely laughed when he complained about it, telling him he was becoming a man.

The question was the right one to ask. The old scholar's eyes lit with the passion of one whose interests were deeply vested into the topic.

"There are several different interpretations of the first king's intentions," he explained, and Endymion listened. This was his favorite class, because it had a way of being both informative and interesting. "One is that he wished to reject the thought that fate and destiny were outlined by the heavens and chose the opposite of the heavens."

"The earth," Endymion said aloud.

"Indeed. Another interpretation I've heard is that he did it to stand out among his competitors. Queen Lavinia was the sole daughter to a lord who was much sought after by suitors, and King Aeneas, at the time, was for all his might and strength and wisdom a refugee wandering nomadically. He had to be ambitious and outrageously outstanding, or merely be a beggar seeking out scraps."

Endymion grimaced at the thought of his ancestor being a beggar. "A gamble, then." He could have gained everything – but he also could have lost what little he had. It seemed very unwise, and yet history had remembered him a winner.

A light twinkled in his teacher's eye. "Correct. Sometimes kings must be bold."

And he was to be king. Endymion wondered if he could be that bold. If he could wander lands as a refugee, a leader of other fellow escapees who trusted him with their lives.

He doubted it. Even the closest person to him chose to leave his side, so who could stay with him through everything?

"My favorite interpretation," said his tutor, perhaps sensing that his thoughts had taken a dark turn. "Is that King Aeneas, after witnessing the Fall of Troy and learning the horrors of a war waged in proxy of the gods firsthand, decided that he must be a revolutionary to the fates themselves."

It worked to divert his attentions. Endymion mulled over the words and found himself quite liking them. A revolutionary to the fates. It was very cool.

"And to do so, he gathered in Elysion those with gifts. That is why his preparing for a revolution to start, or at the very least, his stance on fate being in the hands of not gods but the mortals themselves, appeals to me as the best interpretation. At the time, only those who were gifted in some way were raised and trained in Elysion, as if preparing for a war. Over the centuries, the laws have changed so that they are not nearly as exclusive as they were at the start, and those that may have once been guardians gathered against the heavens are now priests who strive to guard our souls, but even to this day, Elysion prefers those with gifts over those without."

Of course they did, Endymion thought glumly. That was why –

And Mamoru woke up from the dream that was more of a memory. His heart pounded, racing like he had been chased.

He nearly stumbled out of bed, reaching for the notebook he kept, the pen between its pages, and desperately scribbled down everything he could remember. His tutor. Aeneas, Lavinia, Elysion. Gifted.

But try as he might, Mamoru could not remember what Endymion had been about to think, what he _knew_ was important.

Elysion. A temple where the gifted went. Mamoru leaned back into his cot and covered his eyes with his forearm.

* * *

It was unusual for Basil to be sent somewhere as the sole fighter on a mission. There was his age to account for, sure, but there was also the fact that CEDEF was the only thing that had kept him from being murdered ever since he was seven years old.

When his master told him that he would be carrying the Vongola half-rings in CEDEF's possessions to Japan, to Sawada Tsunayoshi, Basil accepted the critically important mission as what it was – an honor, and a chance to redeem himself to the boy he had robbed of so much.

"I won't let you down," he promised the man who had to give up so much to keep him safe. "I'll protect the rings with my life."

Gabriel hadn't been after him for over a year now, not after the revelation that had been his strike against Sawada Iemitsu. CEDEF wasn't going to let down their guard, but at the same time, why bother going after Basil when Iemitsu's own son was an available target?

His master sighed. "Don't do that," he said at last, and his voice was choked. "Don't die, Basil. Give up the rings if it comes down to them and your life."

They were words that he wanted to hear and felt incredibly – undeservingly – happy to hear. Did it please him to hear that he was worth more than the most valued treasure of the Vongola, the rightful legacy and inheritance of Sawada Tsunayoshi? Shamefully, yes. Very much.

Even if he wasn't going to obey, if it did come down to it. On a set of scales, his life was on one side – and on the other, the life of the person who had lost the most because of his existence. It was the least Basil could offer, if he was to even begin the impossible task of atoning for his sin.

"It won't come down to that," he said instead, not lying but also not admitting to anything. "You should worry about the others. No one will suspect I have the rings, and Tarragon is going with me."

Iemitsu looked pained, and Basil knew he hadn't managed to fool his intuition. Not just that of the Vongola's bloodline, but his insight – the one that had been honed razor sharp during his years of serving the family and fighting with his life on the line.

Basil just smiled instead, because he was of CEDEF, and he was his master's student, and he was not going to lose yet another parent figure.

* * *

Being a sailor soldier meant that technically, Ninkilim was the champion embodying her planet. Being champion of Chu, though, guaranteed no great physical prowess. There had never been a Chu known for their physical strength or size, after all.

It did, however, mean that she was guaranteed an abundance of potential in ranking.

And that suited her perfectly fine. Ninkilim loved analyzing information. Call it a stereotype, but that was just how the people of Chu were. Had been.

She sighed and rubbed at her tired eyes. Nabu was right, in saying that he could not leave. The soul reborn as a human was a human now, odd as that was. The past life didn't matter, and the present self was happy where he was.

It would have still been nice, though, to have a pair of hands helping out. There was only so much she could do by herself. Euthalia and Aglaope were busy with bringing life back to their planets, a time-consuming process that left them open to attack. Bastet, Macha, and she were on guard, but Chu's first and foremost strength was always in information. Sailor Mau and Sailor Coronis could be the ones protecting by actually fighting threats that came.

As Sailor Chu, she would arm them with the best weapon she could – information.

Ninkilim focused her efforts on Tau, and not just to repay the favor to the solar system for her old friend. It was close to theirs as well, that wretched, dead star system. A boogeyman for sailor soldiers, the example of what happened when their sailor crystals were swallowed by the darkness of greed without check, to say that Tau was creepy was an understatement.

All that was left in this star system was a graveyard. No future, no potential for life. Dead, and struggling, and hungry.

It took some effort, sneaking there by herself, and she had to borrow quite a few magics from Aglaope and Euthalia to hide her presence, but Ninkilim wasn't Sailor Chu for nothing. Objective information ranked themselves in her head, arranging neat list after list, and Ninkilim wasn't foolish enough to stay around to analyze them where she was. She took what information she could get and left the moment she felt something stirring in the 'dead' star system. She was interested in information, not in being the next example told through hushed stories.

Back in the safety of Fauna, on Chu, Ninkilim sorted out the rankings she gathered and crunched some numbers. It was a fact that Tau had 'life' – under the broad definition of the term – but as she went through the data, Ninkilim grimaced at the picture being painted.

The only 'good' news that her trip had brought her was that Tau wasn't after Fauna. No, Fauna and all its planets – Chu included – were low on the list of Tau's priorities.

It wouldn't be 'good' news for the solar system. It would be terrible news, in fact.

Ninkilim hated being the bearer of bad news.

* * *

 **AN** : THANKS FOR REACHING THIS FAR ALSO PLEASE CHECK OUT Palingenesis, it's the Chrome/Hotaru fic that's also a no sailor soldiers AU with 1 chapter so far.

I have been told that the chronological grasshoppering I have going on in my interludes get a little confusing, so this one has most of the events happening in chronological order. Some exceptions but it was easier with this one.

I'm writing Iemitsu and Timoteo while reflecting on my dad, who I thought I resented once. He isn't perfect, and for a while we didn't understand each other because he's bad at communicating and I inherited that, but I realized that I was being a terrible person and he was able to better communicate and clear up misunderstandings and make it clear that he did absolutely love me, he just wasn't good at showing it to us. Love you Dad, please take care of your health I'm scared you're going to die of stress from working too hard. Also stop smoking.

(TL;DR: No bashing, I'm going to try character development for Iemitsu and Timoteo. Let's see how it goes.)

Sorrel and Tarragon are CEDEF OCs and not very important. Gabriel and Matteo are Vongola OCs and are more important. Basil is signed up for regrets and angst.

Hark, is that a hint of SM-brand action? You would be correct, because Senshi stuff should happen.

The theme of this interlude is 'regret'.

Also the interludes are getting longer every time and I joked about it increasing by 2k+ words last time but that actually happened so maybe interlude iv will be 17k+ words warning in advance.

Thank you everyone for one year of support for Petrichor, here's to hoping I can keep it up this coming year too!

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Hotaru: *actually unaware of just what her father dealt with other than the aliens seeking to destroy the planet, genuinely likes Tsuna because he's a good guy, thinks of him as a friend, has healing powers but also has a lot more, looks like a cinnamon roll but could kill you and the rest of the world if she had to but doesn't want to which makes her a cinnamon roll, I guess*

CEDEF, Reborn: Holy shit she's possibly a human experiment or a shady legacy of a dangerous man, we gotta be on our guard.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	42. Varia I

A few months ago, when Hotaru first met Sailor Chu, the petite woman with red hair had been filled with a hopeful light, excited at meeting the reincarnation of her friend. He didn't end up going with her, but Sailor Chu had nonetheless been happy just at speaking with him again.

This encounter, she was grim. As promised, the sailor soldiers of Fauna had investigated Tau, and what they found was disturbing enough to send an urgent message to meet.

"It's only me today," said Sailor Chu. If Hotaru focused, she could see the glimmer of magic that hinted at a glamor, disguising the large ears of Sailor Chu as two rings of braided red hair. A hairstyle not easily seen, but not nearly as eye-catching as ears the size of saucers would. "Sailor Cocoon and Sailor Mermaid are bringing life back to their planet, and Sailor Coronis and Sailor Mau are protecting Fauna while they're vulnerable. But this is serious."

Other than herself, Usagi and Rei were the only sailor soldiers who didn't have scheduling conflicts they couldn't just drop and come for.

Projections of a star system different from their own was thrown up above the table they sat around. Luna and Artemis, sitting on the tables rather than in seats due to the differences in their anatomy, leaned in to look closer. It was different, but not unfamiliar. Hotaru had seen it through a rift in time and space years ago, one she jumped into.

It was hard, to not remember things from moments like that.

"We noticed movements within Tau," said Sailor Chu. "And after my last visit to Earth, I snuck over to see what I could find out."

Next to the projections, lists began to roll down. Some information highlighted at the snap of Sailor Chu's fingers, and Hotaru's eyes were drawn towards them.

"Ranking works with information I have prior," said Sailor Chu. "If I want direct information about a person, like, say, their greatest weaknesses, that's directly tied to them. In that case, I need their name, and for greater accuracy, physical proximity."

One of the lists enlarged. 'Strongest beings in the Tau Star System'. It was a short list, and the name at the top was highlighted.

"But that limitation isn't necessarily restricted to people," continued Sailor Chu. "I already know the name of the Tau Star System, and I was there when I made this ranking. With that, I could draw up this list of names."

'Master Pharaoh 100'.

Rei's eyes narrowed, fire and war within her flickering in response to the upcoming clash, like a storm on the horizon.

"I don't know what system Tau used to name their . . . leaders," Sailor Chu grimaced at her own choice of word, "before their takeover and destruction by the Death Busters. But for their current abomination, I do have a list of previous leaders, and Pharaoh 100's, let's say, 'alignment'."

The next two lists – 'Previous Leaders' and 'Principal Goals of Master Pharaoh 100' enlarged accordingly. Master Pharaoh 90 and Mistress 9 were names listed as a pair, and Pharaoh 100's goals were stated as 'acquire power', 'revenge', and 'feed'.

"Ranking is supposed to be an objective method of compiling information," said Sailor Chu after Hotaru was finished reading. "But the three rankings on this one, they were fluid. This order changes, and what that usually means is that their importance in priority is interchangeable."

Usagi, also done reading, turned to Sailor Chu at that as Luna softly gasped. "Pharaoh 100 wants all of them."

Sailor Chu nodded. "In these kinds of cases, it usually means two things. He wants all of them all at once, or they can all be acquired with the same course of action."

Another list enlarged. 'Specific Goals of Master Pharaoh 100 in the Near Future'.

'Invade the solar system and take the Silver Crystal' was, unsurprisingly, the top goal.

"It's also the 'Most Likely Goal of Master Pharaoh 100'," Sailor Chu added.

"When?" asked Rei, dark eyes narrowed sharply at the offense, that someone dared to wrongly covet the solar system she was a protector of. If she felt what Hotaru did, then it was anger like magma seething inside, boiling thickly.

Sailor Chu shrugged. "All I could get was a 'soon' for a timeframe. At the time I was occupied with fleeing."

'Soon' was vague.

"I think two months," estimated Sailor Chu, offering her opinions. "At _most_. It's part gut instinct, but also, there was – shifting, in the Tau Star System. Like a machine beginning to activate."

That was when she fled, the sailor soldier of the planet Chu said, because at the time she thought they had discovered her, and while she was an excellent analyst her skills were less applicable in the area of physical strength.

Now, however, with the benefit of hindsight, Sailor Chu thought a little differently. During her escape she had never run into anyone pursuing or searching for an invader. They hadn't been searching for her, or even chasing her – because they didn't know she was there.

"I think they're beginning to mobilize."

* * *

In retrospect, maybe Tsuna should have realized that the day would end up in chaos when Hotaru couldn't make it to the mall with them. In his defense, he hadn't realized and been on guard with Hotaru being missing from the outing because he was a little busy being disappointed that it wasn't an outing with only Kyoko, but still. He should have seen it and taken it as the warning sign as it was.

A brief moment with Kyoko – a memory he would forever treasure in his heart – was the only silver lining of the day, before something – some _one_ – fell from the skies and nearly crushed him to death.

Which, not just _ow_ , but also _what_.

He wanted to say there was no such thing, but Tsuna was honestly beginning to think there was some kind of curse on him that was dispelled only by the _literally_ healing aura of Tomoe Hotaru.

"I'm sorry," the crusher of life said, as Tsuna's eyes squeezed together in pain. "-Thou art…!"

He must have hit his head really hard, Tsuna thought through the agony of a broken skull, because who spoke like that in the twenty-first century?

"Tenth!"

"Are you alright, Tsuna?"

A light hand touched his shoulder carefully. "Tsuna-kun, are you okay?"

His eyes snapped open. The boy in the leather jacket – the person that nearly crushed him to death and spoke in a way that didn't go with his choice of clothes at all – was patting down his arm with hasty hands, the furrow of his brows nearly hidden by the blue fire flickering above it, but Tsuna was too focused on Kyoko, looking at him in concern. Well, he was _now_ , and –

Hold on. Leather Jacket had a blue flame on his forehead, and unfortunately, it was familiar to Tsuna. A different color than what he was used to, maybe, and Leather Jacket wasn't running around in his underwear, but that was the Dying Will Flame, because Tsuna just point-blank refused to believe there were other people who went around with fire on their foreheads without a similar reason.

"Voooi! What's this?!" roared a very loud, _very_ abrasive voice from above, as if the heavens were pissed at everything and anything and given the ability to speak. Or in this case, yell.

It wasn't quite the heavens but standing on the balcony of the building they'd been sitting in the shade of, holding a sword, was a man in black. He had extremely long silver hair, the longest Tsuna had ever seen on a guy, and everything about him looked unreal.

"What's going on?" Tsuna asked, but something deep in his gut, like a stomach flu or food poisoning, told him that the chaos had only just started.

He was, unfortunately, right.

* * *

The good news was, there were no broken bones. Takeshi knew what those felt like, and while there was pain, it wasn't that kind of pain. There were bruises scattered all over, mostly stretched out on the right side of his body, but other than that and a few aches, Takeshi had no other injuries.

And that was – insulting?

The voice of reason in his head – that had a habit of sounding like Haru or Hotaru, depending on which style would bring more guilt – pointed out that he shouldn't be _unhappy_ at _not_ being hurt, and the voice – Haru's today – was right. He was just knocked out, there were no lasting injuries, and everyone was okay.

. . .

Yeah, no.

That long-haired guy was _strong_.

When they fought at Kokuyo, against the guy with the giant metal ball – Tsuna said his name was Lancia and apologized on his behalf, saying that he was forced to fight, and Takeshi had forgiven him – that had been because the metal ball had a surprise twist to it. He had been caught off-guard, and it was an unfamiliar weapon, and he hadn't expected for the winds to suddenly change like that so abruptly.

And yeah, Lancia was strong, and Takeshi might have lost against him even without the unusual weapon, but he would have been able to accept that. Probably.

What made the long-haired guy different was that he used a sword, too. He knew the sword and laughed at Takeshi's use of it.

And he was right, saying that Takeshi didn't know how to use the sword, not properly. He could put power and speed behind it, and use it like a shield, or like a baseball bat with a blade, and –

And that was about it.

It was more than just speed and strength. It was like how baseball was more than just hitting the ball hard or throwing it. There was skill involved, technique developed by practice and dedication, and Takeshi hadn't realized just how much it also applied to the sword until he had seen that long-haired man move with the fluidity of someone who was devoted to something so viciously.

The next day, when the kid offered him the ring, Takeshi turned it down. Accessories were nice, but not really his thing, and he had something else he needed to focus on. Baseball, yeah, but also, he needed to think a little more about the difference he noticed, because there was more to it. The difference was serious.

Or he would have, if Tsuna hadn't been relieved at his refusal, and said the magic words that hooked into Takeshi's attention

The ring was his chance to get a revenge match with that long-haired guy?

That changed things.

Takeshi snatched up the ring before anyone else could take it and bolted, because he had a limited amount of time and a goal to go after and if he stayed Tsuna was going to try and convince him to not do it and give back the ring.

Haha, no.

It was a weirdly shaped ring, kind of ugly like it was abandoned in the middle of being formed, made of some kind of dark metal that didn't look all that important.

When he touched it, though, it felt . . . weird. Familiar, almost, like it was something he was used to.

The ring was still an accessory and he didn't like having something on his hand, so Takeshi just strung it around the chain that had come with it and put it around his neck.

The proper approach to an upcoming revenge match, Takeshi knew, was to prepare. The reason for the revenge match was always the same – loss. The motive was the same, too – a fierce desire and determination to make up for the loss, and not lose again in the second match-up.

The outcome? Would be determined by what he did.

He was coming back in ten days, Tsuna said, trying to convince them to not do it. Tsuna said it like there were only ten days. 'Only'.

If he was to look at it from a more optimistic view, he would see that it wasn't 'only'. It was ten 'whole' days to prepare.

Takeshi wasn't going to be able to prepare on his own. Baseball was a team sport, and it needed everyone to practice hard and be at their best.

This wasn't going to be a baseball match. Like the long-haired one had said, he knew nothing about the sword. That was obvious.

When Takeshi ducked into TakeSushi, his dad was scrubbing down the kitchen, brows furrowed the way he did when he needed to clean because he was frustrated or angry. It was never good to cook with an angry, chaotic mind, his dad always said. When he was mad, or when he was frustrated, Yamamoto Tsuyoshi put away ingredients and went over the motions of cleaning everything in reach.

That way, the kitchens were clean – a vital aspect of sushi-making – and his frustration could be channeled productively.

At the sound of someone entering the space, his dad looked up, and the furrows straightened from a smile. "You hungry, Takeshi?"

He shook his head. He wasn't hungry, not for food.

"Hey Dad," he said, thinking back to when he was young, and his mom used to tell him stories of how she met and got a huge crush on one of her father's students and always made excuses to hang around the dojo so she could sneak peeks at him. It was a story that ended in marriage and Takeshi's birth, but in a passing comment, she had mentioned that the reason she liked him at first was because he was the strongest one. "Can you teach me kendo?"

He was, however, very hungry for victory.

* * *

Meeting Sailor Cocoon had stirred up old memories. Not in a bad way, she wanted to say, because her focus had been on the memories she had of her mother, and Tomoe Keiko deserved to be remembered fondly.

Meeting Sailor Chu a second time had done so in a bad way, because the Death Busters simply did not.

Her parents could have given her space. That was what the shut door to her bedroom, the silence in response to their knocking and calling her name, the blanket she was hiding under implied she wanted.

They could have.

But they also knew what it was like to be silently stewing, to suffer alone, lost in their own thoughts.

They knew what it was like, to have been alone and sometimes just revert to shrinking inside to hide because they were too unsure to call for help, and they knew it wasn't the best, sometimes, so they gently breached that line.

One of her parents sat next to her, only separated from her curled up-torso by the comforter Hotaru was hiding under. Someone else sat at the head of the bed, where Hotaru's feet were, and the creak of her chair said that a third was seated at her desk.

No one said anything, but they were there, and like the ice of winter thawed by spring winds, Hotaru eventually broke the silence.

"I thought I ended Pharaoh 90."

She felt the dark being's life drain away, that chaotic being's presence fade. Death was silence. All life had a sound, unique to themselves, and death was that sound's absence. It was both great and terrible and that was why she was the soldier of silence.

In that one moment, after the gate closed behind her, she had heard the silence, felt it in her hand, around her, _in_ her –

She had ended Master Pharaoh 90.

Had she? Because she had also meant to end herself, as well, because if she was to bring the silence of a life, then it was at the price of her own silence, too.

And Tomoe Hotaru, Sailor Saturn, died, only to be reborn, given new life, not once, in the beginning of Tomoe Hotaru's life as she was reborn into it, not twice, as a babe after her body had been destroyed and brought back and destroyed again with Saturn's awakening, but _three_ times.

If she was given multiple chances at life, then what was to stop Pharaoh 90, the Death Busters, from receiving the same chance? Even if they were abhorrent cannibals objectively, and subjectively a part of a past she wasn't interested in ever repeating.

It might not have been immediate. It might not have ever happened.

But Sailor Galaxia and Sailor Moon had clashed, in that lonely, heartbreaking battle, before Galaxia slipped away and Sailor Moon stood alone against Chaos, and a miracle came to be in the stars shooting across the dark, vast universe as the star seeds flew back to their homes, bringing life to destroyed, razed planets.

A graveyard of stars, incapable of hosting life – star seeds extinguished by greed, cannibalized by its own residents.

What would have happened to the Silver Crystal, had the Silver Millennium not been destroyed by the Silence Glaive's fall. What would have happened, if Saturn hadn't ripped Pharaoh 90 from the surface of the planet and pushed him into the abyss of death.

The comforter was easily removed with a simple gesture. It was Setsuna that was sitting near her head, Michiru next to her feet, and Haruka on the chair.

"Does it make me a terrible person if I say I'm going to make sure they don't come back this time?"

Her parents, her fellow sailor soldiers, witnesses of the last time she had faced the shadowy agent of Chaos that had been the gluttonous leader of the Death Busters were fully biased in their opinions, and they were what she needed.

"Not at all," answered Setsuna, and a teasing light lit her dark eyes. "And this time, I won't be shutting any doors on you."

"You also won't be jumping into faraway dimensions in a suicide attack," added Michiru primly.

"I was sucked in," Hotaru tried. None of her parents looked like they bought it.

"After you hit the bastard where it hurts," said Haruka firmly, one eyebrow raised as if to say 'nice try' even as she didn't dig up and expose her white lie. "Our princess will purify the remnants so that they won't _ever_ be able to come back."

Hotaru nodded. Alone, she had failed, but she wasn't alone. They weren't alone. It was a revenge match, for all that they had 'won' last time.

This time their victory would just be flawless. There would be no third Master Pharaoh rising from the ashes of the previous one.

* * *

Basil always assumed that he had a fifty percent chance, maximum, of meeting Sawada Tsunayoshi, and that was a generous assumption, given that he expected to die early before he even had the chance.

If everything went well, Basil knew, then he would never meet Sawada Tsunayoshi. 'Well' in his terms, of course, though his master might have disagreed with his thoughts had he known them.

But if they did meet, if Basil met the boy who his very existence had robbed so much from, then what would happen?

It was a question he had wondered for years, the thought haunting him like ghosts refusing to rest.

He always imagined a face like Sawada Iemitsu but younger, and eyes as cutting as Gabriel's, full of blame and hate and accusing him of his sin, of his crime. He imagined a voice as cold as a frozen river, hissing at him, demanding to know what a cursed child like him thought he was doing, hadn't he seen already the wreckage he left behind on people's lives? He imagined angry words spilling out like lava, fury bubbling like magma, wanting to burn Basil for his crimes until only bones were left, and buried under stone.

In his more morbid moments, Basil imagined his death at Sawada Tsunayoshi's hands. He wasn't allowed to struggle in his imagined death, to only accept it.

It figured, then, that his first encounter with the real Sawada Tsunayoshi would be nothing like anything he'd ever imagined, thanks to the efforts of Superbi Squalo. Basil was fighting for his life, for his mission, he nearly crushed Sawada Tsunayoshi to death, and then lost consciousness in the middle of it all.

Figures.

After a chaotic first meeting that went exactly nothing like anything Basil had ever imagined and he was knocked out in the figurative storm, Basil woke up in a panic.

"It's fine," said a low voice, one that might be easy to not notice, but was pleasant once you listened – rich and smooth like chocolate ganache.

Tarragon was in a chair at his bedside, unobtrusive and inconspicuous. A bland-faced woman with mousy hair and no notable details about her face, she was usually easily forgotten and not registered as a threat.

A trait that might not be as effective as usual, given the cast her right arm was in, and the bandages around her neck and on one side of her face. The eye on that side was blackened and puffed up, and her lips healing from a split, but she was alive.

She was alive. His teammate, fellow CEDEF member, partner for this mission was alive. She hadn't been killed.

Basil only received a small amount of relief from the knowledge that his curse hadn't struck again and robbed yet another person of their life because of their association to him. "The rings! Sawada-dono!"

She raised her other hand and put a finger against her lips and Basil knew from experience, both firsthand and observed, that she would wait until he shut up to continue speaking. His heart threatened to rip through his ribs for answers, but Basil forced a deep breath and all but vibrated out of his half-sitting, half-lying position in the hospital bed from the anxiety.

"The Varia has them, but don't worry." Tarragon had to raise her voice at the latter part of her sentence when Basil cried out. "The ones we had were fake."

The plan, she debriefed, after another pause to make sure he was listening. Was to catch them in a double trick. At first glance their team would look like the diversion, because a second-rate illusionist and a kid weren't exactly the dream team against the unofficial boss of the Varia.

That would be what the CEDEF would want them to think, anyone with half a brain would realize. The larger team with people more suited for the task, like Lal Mirch, was the diversion. A brazen gamble.

Which is what CEDEF actually wanted the Varia to think. CEDEF had pulled off a double diversion. Tarragon hadn't known either.

The Varia would have to split their forces between the 'diversion' and the 'real team'.

And in the meantime, the boss of the Cavallone Famiglia would be able to casually fly into Japan with the real rings, protected by his status as an ally to the Vongola if they saw through the double layer of deception and figured out the trick.

"We just weren't expecting for Superbi Squalo to be the one to come after you and I," Tarragon said with a slight frown creasing her brows, as Basil's heart rate slowed down with true relief that he hadn't messed this up. "That was where the plan nearly went belly-up."

It was, like many things Tarragon quietly summarized, a remarkably blasé way of understating what happened. They'd somehow managed to lose the Varia after them when they arrived in Tokyo, laying false trails.

Except the Varia squad they lost hadn't been all that was sent after them. Just when Basil and Tarragon had relaxed, their success was proven to be premature with the arrival of Superbi Squalo, just hours away from Namimori. Too far into the plan to try false trails again, too close to the danger that was Squalo, Tarragon had shoved the rings into Basil's hands and made an executive decision.

A woman whose greatest strength was in her siren-like voice, coaxing people to spill their secrets to her, versus the strongest swordsman of the Vongola who thrived in the Varia. And yet Tarragon had told Basil to go, told him that she would hold him off.

Tarragon hadn't lasted long, but she'd given Basil a small head start, one filled with terror that yet another member of CEDEF was dead because of him, that this entire mission was going to fail, and it would all be his fault.

"Good job, Basil," said Tarragon, voice not raising or lowering in tone, a steadiness that was quietly supportive, like firm ground under his feet. Easy to discount, but undeniably sturdy. It was genuine praise.

The delivery mission that was actually a diversion mission over, but there was a second part to it.

"Superbi Squalo took the rings, but it won't be long till they realize the truth," said Tarragon. "We need to make use of the time we earned."

"But," Basil protested, gesturing at the papers in his lap. They'd have to be destroyed soon, but Basil couldn't quite believe the words on them, and he wondered if Tarragon had him in an illusion. "Why me?"

Why was _Basil_ being assigned in the training of Sawada Tsunayoshi to prepare him for the Ring Battle between his group and the Varia?

Tarragon considered the question with a bland expression that might seem mindless or bored to anyone who didn't know her.

"Why not you?" she asked in reply after giving it some thought.

Because of who he was to Sawada Tsunayoshi, Basil thought and swallowed the words. They were heavy in his throat, in his stomach, like a pile of rocks.

Tarragon noticed, and she slowly inhaled. "The boss has told you already," she said, voice deliberately spelled out and free of any layers. She only layered her voice when speaking to a CEDEF agent when there was an emergency or a need to calm them down. Basil knew by now what that sounded like. "None of that is your fault."

There was no compulsion in her voice for him to listen to her. Basil could easily ignore her words, kind as they were.

So he did.

"Okay," he said, letting his eyes drop to the papers in his lap like he wanted to read their words one more time so he wouldn't have to continue to let his eyes be peered into by a master of reading what was unsaid. "I'll do my best to help Sawada-dono prepare. With my Dying Will."

Tarragon was a slow talker, especially when she was genuinely engaging with someone. Basil took advantage of that and fled before she could try to convince him otherwise.

Basil hadn't lied. He truly would do everything he could to help Sawada Tsunayoshi survive his clash against the Varia.

It was the least he could do.

* * *

AN: If you thought I just brought the sailor soldiers from Fauna for the sole purpose of giving Futa's powers a backstory then you would have been wrong. This is also why they were necessary – to let the sailor soldiers of the solar system know that Tau is making a comeback.

If you think about it, Pharaoh 90 is the only final boss that wasn't actually defeated by Sailor Moon and the Silver Crystal. In other words, I saw an opportunity to give Hotaru angst and guilt and took it because she's the Fav (Readers: this person).

I am also very fond of Basil and finds it truly regrettable that he does not have much of a backstory, being relegated to the NPC role of a tutorial helper. Readers by now should be familiar with what Huinari's fondness for a character means, but on the bright side Basil will spice up plot (shot for bad pun).

Huinari's 'love' for Hotaru so far.

Frozen Time: takes away Hotaru's powers, splits her apart from her family, and gives them back painfully. Also gives her friends.

Daily Life: Outs part of her power to a friend, gives her some more friends.

Kokuyo: dumps acid on her face and outs her some more to other friends as well.

Varia: makes her feel guilty for not taking the final kill shot on an enemy that made her earlier years hellish + [SPOILERS].

(…wow I am garbage)

(please wait for the TYL Arc it gets better. And by better I mean not.)

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

 **There is a reason why they're friends.**

Hotaru: The Death Busters aren't getting away again.

Takeshi: Revenge match!

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	43. Varia II

Despite being the herald of bad news – at least, for Hotaru – Sailor Chu had given them information and time to prepare.

Two things that Sailor Mercury greatly appreciated.

"I'm not saying we haven't come out victorious in our previous battles," said Ami, the clack of keyboards below flying fingers doing an impressive impression of a machine gun. "It's just, nice, being able to be a tactician and prepare for things beforehand and not in the heat of things."

There were a lot of lists that Sailor Chu had left them. Some were similar in all but a few areas, but still needed to be cross-referenced and considered and used in analyzing different scenarios and approaches that might be taken from Tau.

In other words, Ami was thriving in simulations, and using the data she gathered to create plans.

Plans. Plural.

The main plan, which was both most likely to succeed and left far less damage than the others, was also Hotaru's chance at, as Takeshi might call it, a revenge match. There was the minor detail of her having 'won' the last clash against these opponents, but small details.

In case some things ended up going differently and not according to the simulations, Ami had three other back-up plans for each different scenario. Less ideal, but still optimal given the circumstances they would be applicable in with minimal damage on their side and maximum damage to them.

"And if they all fall through," Ami said, far too chipper for someone discussing the failures of plans she had spent hours crafting. With help from Minako and Setsuna and five cups of coffee without any milk or sugar, sure, but still. Contrary to her cheery, almost hyper tone of voice, the pallor of her skin was sickly pale, especially when contrasted to the dark blue locks of her hair. "Then we just take them out in our usual way."

After Makoto and Usagi dragged Ami away to make her sleep and Hotaru returned home, she went over the plans. Hotaru personally rather liked Plan A, and she hoped that the revived Tau, the second coming of the Death Busters, Pharaoh 100's army, would take the path that would allow Plan A to happen.

Was it vengeful of her? Beyond doubt.

Her fingers flexed, curling like they were wrapping around a pole – a pole of a weapon, about to be swung down in execution.

Did she need it?

(. . . yes.)

While not the one crunching numbers or making the plans, Hotaru was still involved in testing and simulating because Sailor Saturn was a crux of the main plan. She spent a few days immediately leaving school to head to Titan Castle through the mirror and preparing, until everything was set and ready. If Pharaoh 100 so much as put one tendril of energy-absorbing darkness into the boundaries of the solar system they would know and Sailor Saturn would be at Titan Castle, ready to hit them with a Death Reborn Revolution to the face.

That might have been why it took her a while to realize that the boys were weird.

Well, weirder than usual. Which was saying something in Namimori.

More specifically, it wasn't until Haru approached her with concern creasing the space between her brows that she realized there was something going on.

"Hotaru-chan," she said seriously. "Can we talk?"

Alarm bells went off in her head. "Of course."

Wringing her hands, Haru told her about the trip to the mall they had on Saturday with everyone except Hotaru because she had been involved in preparations and Hana who didn't go because I-Pin and Lambo were there, and it had been a fun day that came to an abrupt end with some kind of a fight or something.

"There were explosions," was Haru's explanation when Hotaru was confused by 'some kind of a fight or something'. "And at the time Reborn-chan said there was an accident, and I overheard yelling so I thought it was like a gas explosion, but since then the boys have been really weird."

And the guilt doubled for Hotaru, who had abandoned her friends in the last week or so. "Weird how?"

Haru clenched her fists, and her nostrils flared slightly – the tell-tale signs of her about to go on the warpath. Being guilty as she was, Hotaru quietly prepared herself to follow that warpath.

"This is mostly from Kyoko-chan, who thinks they're up to something, and I think she's right because it's not right at all. So, her brother woke up on Sunday morning, early as usual because he's usually training. All normal until then, except Kyoko overheard him yelling 'TO THE EXTREME' and then saw him run out of the house."

"That's not normal for him?" That fit with basically everything she knew so far about Sasagawa Ryohei.

"It is, but what's weird is that later that day he brought home a baby he said is Reborn-chan's friend who'll be teaching him." Haru's words slowed down near the end, and they came out with a wrinkled nose.

Hotaru nodded slowly, a little confused but somehow following along. Reborn-chan was a little weird, so it made sense that his friends would be weird too.

"Kyoko thought it was weird because he was all enthusiastic about Colonnello-chan – that's the name of Reborn-chan's friend – but when Kyoko asked how his day was, he just shut his mouth closed and couldn't meet her in the eyes. And then this morning, he left early as usual but when Kyoko-chan got to school he wasn't there!"

"He skipped school?"

Haru threw her hands up. "And so did Tsuna-san, Takeshi-kun and Gokudera-san! None of them came to school today!"

"They're _all_ skipping school?"

Hotaru might have expected that of Gokudera, and maybe Sasagawa Ryohei. The latter she might have suspected for being too enthusiastic about boxing and the former _was_ kind of like a delinquent. The 'kind of like' was because he was Tsuna and Takeshi's friend, and he'd gotten better recently.

But Tsuna? Takeshi?

Hotaru didn't think for one second that Takeshi was slacking off because the autumn tournament had ended. He would fall asleep in class, and skimp on reviewing his schoolwork, but never skip outright. For one, he couldn't practice baseball alone – it was a team sport – and other members of the team didn't skip. For another he wouldn't do that to his father.

Which meant they were probably up to something. And if they were skipping school, then it was something _really_ big.

When they went to TakeSushi, neither of the Yamamoto father-son duo were there.

"I think Yamamoto-san said that Takeshi-kun needed special training," said Mori-san, the other chef, when Haru asked.

Training? Haru and Hotaru exchanged looks, and their eyes were like mirrors, showing confusion like a reflection.

If Takeshi's father was on it – whatever 'it' was – then he probably had permission for whatever he was doing.

But if they just left him at that, then they couldn't exactly call themselves his friends.

Since neither Takeshi nor his dad were available for ambushing to get some answers, and Kyoko's brother ran away screaming 'EXTREME' when they tried to ask, that left Tsuna to approach.

Tsuna, who was also not at home.

"Are you serious," moaned Haru, doing her best impression of a mask of Melpomene, grief tugging down the line of her eyes and mouth. At this rate Haru was going to be skipping school herself to solve this mystery tomorrow.

Which was probably not the best course of action to take, but Hotaru was getting tempted as well.

Luckily, just because Tsuna wasn't there didn't mean they were met with another dead end.

"Tsuna's training in the mountains," said Bianchi, who had been seated at the kitchen table, scribbling out some things into a notebook. It looked like recipes, but the cramped, hurried scrawl made it seem more like codes. "And Hayato is training in the fields below that."

"Bless you, Bianchi-san," said Haru with a sigh of relief at finally getting somewhere with their investigation.

"Do you know what they're training for?" Hotaru asked.

Bianchi paused, and her eyes fell into the scribble-filled pages of her notebook like she couldn't help it.

"To get stronger," she answered after a moment.

"But skipping school?" Haru said, scandalized. She was right, Hotaru thought. It was not only out of character for them to skip school, but also to be so – obsessed – with getting 'stronger'. Sure, school was boring sometimes, and Takeshi confessed to napping during class often, but he didn't skip.

After some deliberation, Bianchi came to a decision.

"Why don't you go and ask them their reasons?" she asked instead. "I'm of the opinion that they're not _wrong_ to pursue being stronger right now, but I'm not them, or their advocate. They should be able to defend their opinions and explain their decisions, if they're to stand by them."

Haru leapt out of her seat. "You're absolutely right," she said. "Do you know where in the mountains Tsuna-san is, Bianchi-nee-san?"

Hotaru quietly despaired at the thought of hiking through the mountains as Bianchi found a map and circled a few places.

"Be careful," she warned. "They're near a cliff, so make sure to stay on the path."

On the way to the mountains, following the map Bianchi had kindly marked for them, Hotaru exhausted herself so Haru had to come up with an alternative method to 'crash Tsuna's training and see what was going on' because otherwise Hotaru would only drag them down.

"I'll go make sure Tsuna-san isn't being too reckless," she said, after checking and being reassured that Hotaru wasn't about to drop dead from the exertion. It was a little embarrassing because normally she would have been fine. Disliking the exercise and sweating grossly, sure, but fine.

Combined with the lack of sleep she'd been getting recently in preparations and the stress, and Hotaru was just exhausted, far too much so to keep up with a motivated Haru as they hiked through a mountain.

"Can you check on Gokudera-san?"

She might bicker with the silver-haired boy often, but Haru was a compassionate soul by nature. Hotaru nodded, and they split up – Haru heading up the mountains to reach Tsuna before the sun set, and Hotaru crossing the bridge.

When she nearly got blown up, Hotaru briefly entertained the idea of leaving Gokudera Hayato to his training and just heading to Titan Castle for a relaxing soak in the baths. She definitely would deserve it and Haru would take her side if she knew.

It was a very tempting thought.

* * *

Even before the revelation of her status as an UMA, Tomoe had been the most bearable of her trio of friends. Yamamoto was dumb, Haru was loud, and neither took seriously the Tenth and how special he was.

Tomoe was quiet, smart, and was respectful to the Tenth. She had been tolerable before, and after Hayato learned she was an UMA, it made perfect sense. That was why she had been so bearable.

Even her ability as an UMA was perfect. Healing – an absolutely welcome addition to the Vongola, to support the Tenth in case he was ever injured. He wouldn't be, if Hayato did his job as the right-hand man properly, but still. In the world he'd grown up in, you never knew. Life was fragile and its worth only in what was accomplished in that uncertain state.

Which was why he was apologizing for her nearly being blown up by wandering into the middle of his training session. Had it been anyone else, Hayato wouldn't really have cared, but Tomoe got special treatment.

"Sorry about that," he muttered, ears hot. He hadn't really had a chance to get to ask her questions about being an UMA, because she didn't like talking about it in public and Yamamoto and Haru were always interrupting his attempts, and of course he nearly blew her up the first time he got his mind off her.

Sure, she could heal herself from an acid attack, but that had mostly been damage to the skin. Tomoe said herself that she couldn't heal injuries that were too big. He could have ended up killing her.

"It's fine," she said, brushing a hand against her heart, as if trying to slow it down. Or was that a gesture with an entirely different meaning for an UMA?

Neither Haru nor Yamamoto were around, Hayato realized. No one else was, either. He'd been mad about Shamal refusing to train him but now, it was an opportunity to ask questions without being interrupted.

And then he hesitated. Yamamoto wasn't around because he was training. Or something. If he had even a shred of decency and loyalty towards the Tenth in that baseball-obsessed brain of his, then he would be training, and as dumb as he was, Yamamoto was loyal.

Which meant as much as he was dying to get to know an actual UMA, he needed to focus on training to figure out Shamal's technique. Everything else could wait until later.

Tomoe was faster, though. "You're hurt!"

She glanced around quickly, and after making sure there was no one in sight reached out to touch him. The sight had been cool when he saw it through the grainy footage, even cooler when he experienced it himself, and was still cool now.

Hayato didn't turn it down. It was the logical thing, he argued to the disapproving part of himself while the light sparkled, and his wounds disappeared as if fading out of existence, like they had never existed. If he was hurt, then of course his efficiency would drop.

And if he got to observe an UMA's powers in work, well, that was just a bonus, wasn't it?

"What have you been up to?" Tomoe asked, face lightly strained in concentration. Was that even her real appearance, he wondered. Or was it a mask or sorts, created to fit with a generic standard of beauty? She was pretty, if Hayato thought about it. In the tame, ladylike way. She certainly behaved like one. No one would have suspected that she was an UMA, which made her adaptive capabilities rather incredible.

Hayato shrugged and was pleased to find there were no aches or pains from the movement. She really was good. "Training."

The light faded away, and he was left without any injuries on his body.

Tomoe let go, but her gaze was flat when directed at him, almost as much as her voice as she spoke. "You're telling me you're skipping school to train blowing things up?"

"School's not important," he replied automatically. "It's not like I'm learning anything there."

She didn't look impressed by his response.

Hayato briefly considered telling her about the ring battles. Since the Tenth and Yamamoto were participating, she'd probably be willing to help, and there were a lot more options available in a fight if the fighters weren't afraid of getting hurt. Sure, most of the people he fought who were like that had been on drugs, but if they were guaranteed healing, then there was no need to worry about being hurt, and no need to back down.

But it wasn't up to him to break _omerta_ , or to make the decisions on who to recruit. If Futa could keep the _omerta_ even as he lost his powers, then Hayato sure as hell could shut his mouth to the only UMA in his life and have faith in the Tenth and Reborn to recruit her.

"I've got a question, too," he said instead, deciding to get his curiosity sated. "What planet are you from?"

If she had been drinking something, she would have spat it out as if she was doing her best to imitate a fountain. Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull. Figurative speech for humans, but maybe not impossible for UMAs. Something for future observations and questions.

" _What_?!"

Hayato winced at the high pitch her voice had risen when she screeched. A sonic attack? Or just a loud expression of surprise?

"What planet are you from," he repeated the question, trying to not yell in frustration. Tomoe was an UMA who scared easily, he had to take that into consideration when interacting with her.

"Planet-" she began to sputter in disbelief, until a light of recognition filled her face. "You think I'm an alien."

"Obviously," he grunted. There was, admittedly, a part of him that was disappointed in how she looked so . . . normal. He'd been hoping for an UMA with special features, like double heads or wings. Hayato didn't completely lose hope, though – after all it could have been a disguise, and he was hoping that one day her true form would be revealed, but until then, her outer appearance was an excellent camouflage. No wonder he'd never suspected a thing.

Tomoe's mouth opened, closed, opened again and then closed without a single word or sound coming out. Then, she burst out laughing, giggling almost hysterically. She pressed her hands against her mouth, but even that only slightly muffled her laughter.

Women. Even when they were UMA, they had to be weird.

When Tomoe Hotaru finally stopped laughing, she wiped a tear away from her eyes.

"I think that was the funniest thing I ever heard," she admitted. "You have some unusual sides to yourself, don't you, Gokudera-san?"

"Che." He took back what he had said about her being the better one. UMA with useful abilities or not, the conversation wasn't getting him much. Hayato decided to focus on his training again when she spoke suddenly.

"Let's say Saturn."

Saturn. Roman god of wealth and agriculture. Also, a planet in the solar system – the sixth – that was not inhabited by any life, last checked. "What?"

"Saturn," Tomoe repeated, confirming that he had not misheard her the first time. "Let's say I'm from Saturn. I was born on Earth, but I like Saturn."

Hayato scowled. If she was going to lie, she could at least put some effort into it. "That's not a valid reason."

She didn't even blink. "Then Pluto? Saturn's my favourite but Pluto's nice, too."

Clearly, Tomoe wasn't going to be taking this seriously. He'd find out himself. It would be more worth it that way, anyways.

"Pluto shouldn't even be considered a planet," Hayato grumbled, still a little miffed at how the UMA wasn't taking it seriously.

The next moment, he tensed at the chill in the look Tomoe shot him. Having built up a reputation in the backstreets of Italy and a few months with _the_ Reborn himself, he knew killing intent.

This – this was something else. It wasn't quite killing intent, but still oppressive in force – except there was so much _more_ of it. An entire ocean put pressure on him, and for a moment Hayato believed he was drowning in a cold, deadly sea.

 _Danger_.

The pressure lifted, and there was nothing, except a very disapproving Tomoe Hotaru.

"Take that back," she ordered him, darkly glowering like he had personally offended her. "Pluto is a part of the solar system – it is and always _will_ be a planet."

Women, Hayato thought again, but he took it back. He told himself it was because it still was considered a planet by the scientific community, and not because he had been intimidated.

Definitely an UMA.

* * *

Gokudera hadn't really told her much, not even bothering to pretend that he wasn't being evasive, and Hotaru gave up. She might get better results grilling Takeshi, or by playing along with Gokudera's interest in her status as an 'alien'.

That, honestly, if anything, had made her day because of how funny it was.

In the meantime, Hotaru had to give Kawahira a head's up on what was coming.

Pushing aside his third bowl of ramen, emptied of even the broth, Kawahira put down his chopsticks and swallowed before giving his incredibly sophisticated opinion of upcoming visitors.

"Ew."

"'Ew'?" Hotaru repeated, asking herself if she was so tired that she was mishearing things.

Kawahira nodded and patted his mouth with a handkerchief. "Ew," he confirmed.

Not that she disagreed with his – very – succinct and accurate assessment of the Death Busters, but still. That was short and also not what she expected at all.

The priest of Earth and possibly ramen eyed the bowls he had demolished with a look of frustration, like they were at fault for not containing more of the food he'd just devoured as if possessed by a starving ghost. "Maybe one more . . ."

"No more," Hotaru said automatically, a habit from their years of cohabitation. Kawahira had the nerve to pout, but she wasn't going to budge. He needed to stop his habit of stress-eating, especially if his food of choice was ramen. "Eat some konjac jelly or something."

"They're gross," he said matter-of-factly. "And not very nutritious."

She gave the three bowls that had previously held food which couldn't really be considered 'nutritious' a pointed look, which he ignored magnificently by changing the topic.

"Speaking of gross and not very nutritious," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Would I be right in assuming that you'll be the one fighting the Death Busters?"

Hotaru blinked, not at the change in topic – she was too used to him to get thrown off by the sudden swerve – but at his accurate guess. She hadn't told him the plan they had in mind. "Yes. How did you know?"

Kawahira shrugged, the movement coming across as lazy. "Basic process of elimination. The Death Busters, and especially that nasty Pharaoh 90, had a trait of energy absorption. They fed off life energy, even from attacks up to a certain point. Since Pharaoh 90 had a higher tolerance than his underlings in the past, and the chances of his successor being similar to him are pretty good, it only makes sense to have someone who has an overwhelming advantage be the one to face them first to keep them from growing stronger by your own attacks."

The same line of reasoning that had worked in creating their own plans. Hotaru nodded in agreement. Last time, the combined attacks of Sailor Moon, Sailor Chibi-Moon, Tuxedo Mask and all the inners had been absorbed, and only strengthened Pharaoh 90.

The master of the Death Busters had not been able to do such a thing against Saturn's attack, and Sailor Chu's information confirmed that it was due to the advantage Saturn's powers of destruction had against the gluttonous nature of Tau's monsters. Creatures born from the darkness that was created after greedy souls cannibalized their own sailor soldiers for power, their very creation was rooted in gluttony.

Kawahira lightly shuddered.

"They were _revolting_ ," he said, revulsion in every line of his frown. "Apologies in advance for not being able to offer any aid, then and now."

Not that she had wanted, needed or expected it, but – "You're not getting involved?"

"In terms of matchups, I would be at quite the disadvantage when pitted against any of the monsters from Tau, let alone Pharaoh 90 and his ilk," Kawahira said with a free air not befitting that of someone admitting his weakness. "Besides, I've never been a guardian whose primary duties were to engage in combat."

Thinking about his talents and lessons in illusions, Hotaru frowned. "I thought you said illusions were applicable in combat."

Kawahira grinned with pride. "They are. I said primary duties, didn't I? I was never very good at fighting and I never enjoyed it, but sometimes we don't pick our battles and we have to make do with what we have. Most times I was gathering information or providing support to allies and distraction to foes. Buying time until the heavy hitters could finish off the enemy."

For someone who said he wasn't any good or didn't enjoy it, he seemed pretty happy reminiscing about it.

His good cheer faded, though, when his eyes landed on the empty bowls again. Hotaru mentally kicked herself for not shoving them under the coffee table, out of sight.

"What's gotten you so stressed?" she asked, hoping to destress him by getting him to spill what he could rather than fruitlessly stuffing himself with food to try and bury it all within.

Kawahira hummed like he knew exactly what she wanted to do and would play along as he saw fit. "When unsavory visitors are coming without invitation, I have every reason to be stressed."

"You're not talking about the Death Busters." It wasn't a question. He hadn't known about the warning before she told him, and he'd been stress-eating before she got here.

"Well, they've certainly added to my frustrations, I won't deny that," Kawahira murmured, conceding the point. "It is not a good month, for visitors."

Hotaru leaned back in her seat and sighed. Everyone was up to something in this town nowadays.

"I don't suppose you know what my friends have been up to?" she tossed out. Gokudera's question about the planet of her origin had thrown her off, to the point where she had forgotten to press him further. Maybe she could make a deal with Gokudera tomorrow – information for healing or something. His recklessness meant he was certainly going to be needing it, and, well, she was curious. And they – Hotaru, Haru, Kyoko – were worried.

Kawahira looked at her blankly, like he was just hearing about this.

Hotaru still had time. She gave a brief explanation of what was going on, and how evasive they were being.

"I did tell you boys were stupid," he said lightly when she finished telling him about her latest encounter with Gokudera, but Hotaru didn't mistake that for disinterest or him making light of her worries. "Although he seems to have hit the nail on the head without even realizing it."

"You can laugh," she said with a sigh, at the mirth in his eyes.

Kawahira did just that, nearly falling over onto his side on the sofa. With a fisted hand he thumped at the cushion a few times, muffling his chuckles into the crook of his arm while Hotaru waited.

"Sorry," he said, when he was finished. "I've been up to a few things outside of Japan. Do you want me to keep an eye on your friends?"

Hotaru shook her head. He was already stressed, and there were still bags under his eyes. Kawahira didn't need more on his plate. "Thank you, but it's okay. We'll manage. You just get some rest and stop eating ramen like it owes you money."

There was a bit of a tremor near his eye at the familiar words of Granny from her. "Much obliged for your concern, except the last part."

* * *

AN: Since Pharaoh 90 not only broke through the barriers made by the outers, and absorbed the energy from all the attacks, and it took Sailor Moon jumping in to release the holy grail/SC's power inside to awaken Saturn who then smacked P90 with a DRR and showed the weird goop its rightful place, I headcanon the nature of Pharaoh 90's power to be somewhat like a glutton that absorbs energy and makes it its own, and Saturn's powers don't apply the same way because she is the soldier of destruction.

To put it in pokemon terms, senshi + Mamoru's attacks are not very effective against Pharaoh 90, but Saturn's is super effective. Kawahira is even more vulnerable, and has a type disadvantage against Pharaoh 90 in the same way Whimsicott has a disadvantage against poison-types.

For non-Pokemon fans who have no idea what that means, in terms of 'most to least effective against Pharaoh 90, it would be:

Saturn /unbreachable wall/ Sailor Soldiers Mamoru + Chibi-Usa Kawahira

The hardest part about this chapter was writing it in a way that didn't make a pokemon reference.

Since I started conceptualizing Petrichor I wanted to write this Gokudera-Hotaru interaction. Isn't it funny how a half truth isn't a complete truth? The devil is in the details.

One of the reasons why this is an alternate world very similar to but not quite Earth is because Pluto will not be banished from planet status (because the alternate history stuff like eco-friendly pseudo-immortal priest illuminati and sailor soldiers happening totally isn't the more significant reason).

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Gokudera: Where are you from, alien?

Hotaru: (reincarnated princess of Saturn born and raised on Earth) let's say Saturn.

Gokudera: Lies?!

Hotaru: (still amused) then Pluto.

Gokudera: liar, also Pluto is totally not a planet.

Hotaru: (FURY) Take that back.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Kawahira: *eating ramen like it owes him money*

Hotaru: *counts bowls* ah, he's stressed

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Kawahira: I'm up to something(s).

Hotaru: Aren't you always. Get some rest and actual food in you for once.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Kawahira: I was primarily support. If I had to fight, I usually bought time.

Acheron back then: *disorients fighters in the middle of battle to force them to make mistakes; tricks enemies into fighting each other or using up a good chunk if not all of their strength against illusions; cons them into spilling information* I'm not a good fighter, can I sit this one out?

Sephira back then: *heavy hitter number 1* No.

Acheron back then: *vents his irritation by giving his enemies animal heads*

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	44. Varia III

The Vongola and Reborn were both crazy. That was probably why they had such great synergy with each other, except their interactions weren't a simple addition, but a more complex multiplication. More complex, as in more chaotic and risk of coronary disease elevating for literally everyone else.

That was the basic gist of Dino's thoughts when he was assigned the job of teaching Hibari Kyoya how to fight. The sadistic hitman and the Vongola Family thought that taking civilian teens and setting them in a match against the Varia – the _Varia_ – in a fight to determine who would be the next leader of the strongest Famiglia in Italy and the world was a good idea.

Gods, but it sounded absolutely insane when he said it like that.

But Dino was, for all that they were allies trustworthy enough to be entrusted with something like this, still an outsider to the Vongola and had no say in matters like this. All Dino could offer was his support to make sure their ship did not sink. The Cavallone was outclassed by the Vongola, but what they needed right now was not money, or information, or weapons.

What the future generation of the Vongola Decimo needed more than anything right now, in a very time-sensitive period that could literally make or break them, were trustworthy people. It was a sad day when they had to be careful of people even within their own family in fear of betrayal, and ironic that they had to 'outsource' to allied families instead of their own.

It was, he had to admit, his habit of looking to the bright side something ingrained in his very soul after Reborn was through with him, more entertaining than working on paperwork, and a lot more pressing, too. Xanxus being confirmed alive, and the Varia moving to make him the Vongola Decimo was bad news. If the Vongola's leader became someone as tyrannical as he was, unable to care about the weak and volatile, 'bad news' wouldn't even begin to cover it. Italy would be bathed in blood, and whether the Cavallone stayed as allies or not, they would be affected regardless.

Teaching a problematic kid? The least Dino could do to prevent that kind of a future.

Reborn assessed Hibari Kyoya to be the strongest of the future guardians, and as he faced him, whip against tonfa, Dino had to agree with him. This kid fought for the purpose of fighting. He fought because it was engraved into his very being like the cells that made up his body, and it was his method of communicating, of testing one's mettle. Whether one was worthy of being acknowledged or not.

In terms of appearances alone, he looked like a young prince, a son of a noble, but he was a wild soul, through and through. He picked fights with those who crossed him, living by his own rules above that of social norms and conventions.

And he had the talent to back it up.

"Not bad, Kyoya," he said. The Japanese had a culture of not calling each other by the given name unless very close, he knew when he studied before arriving in Japan to help with Tsuna's education. Not quite like the concept of magical folks being sensitive about their names for safety, but he wasn't Japanese, so who knew.

Hibari Kyoya's eyes narrowed as if irritated, and Dino smirked. He was strong, of that there was no doubt.

But he could be even stronger, and what was the job of a tutor if not to help his student exceed?

"You're too used to straightforward attacks," he criticized. "You need more flexibility."

The whip snapped, its length giving Dino not only reach but also unpredictability.

There was no information on a possible candidate for the Varia's Cloud Guardian. Hibari Kyoya needed to be prepared for the worst so that he came out fine regardless of what he was thrown against.

As if picking up on his thoughts, a tonfa nearly smashed his face in, and Dino only dodged it by an inch.

* * *

Unfortunately, Hotaru wasn't able to press Gokudera for more information, because of two specific strangers.

"A blond man and a doctor who looked like Gokudera-san?" Haru repeated.

Hotaru nodded. American television shows had prisoners in orange jumpsuits, and if it hadn't been for the pickaxe and safety helmet that suggested he was more of a construction worker than a prison escapee with an odd attachment to his prison's uniform, that would have been Hotaru's first impression of the rugged man with blond hair cut short, his height taller than even Haruka, who was present in the field where Gokudera was blowing things up with a vengeance.

Well, no, the pickaxe was still weird, but still.

"It's pretty dangerous around these parts," he had said, after he noticed her. Hotaru refrained from telling him that the very tall, muscularly built man in a construction worker's standard clothes wielding a pickaxe was what looked most dangerous to her around these parts, because his eyes, at least, were concerned. He didn't look like an axe-crazy serial killer because of his eyes. "Do you need me to walk you back to town?"

Hotaru looked towards the direction where Gokudera was currently engaged in conversation with a man wearing a doctor's coat. The man had a darker skin tone, like Setsuna, but there was something similar between the two of them, and not just their hairstyles.

Although the identical way they wore their hair definitely helped with that impression, Hotaru added in thought.

There went the half-formed plan to offer more healing to Gokudera in exchange for information on just what the boys were up to. Maybe they needed to have a closer talk with Takeshi or Kyoko's brother. Hotaru was fairly sure that if she mentioned making sushi at home with ice cube trays, Takeshi's father would be so horrified that he'd be summoned immediately to TakeSushi by sheer force of willpower and indignity.

"I'm okay," she said at last, because stranger danger meant she didn't just walk back into town with a strange man, even if he had good eyes. Also, Setsuna would suffer from instant hypertension the moment she saw him with Hotaru, so. "But thank you."

And then, because he seemed to have some common sense in understanding that a field filled with pits from explosions were dangerous, which was probably more than what could be said of half the people in this town, Hotaru asked, "Do you know what they're doing?"

The blond man had an odd look on his face at that, and Hotaru thought there was something about his eyes that were strangely familiar, and not just in the sense that they weren't filled with ill will. Concern, but also a steadiness that wasn't easily noticed at first yet adamantly, firmly there.

Where had she seen that kind of resolve, as obvious as a baseline in someone?

"What do you think they're doing?" he returned with a question.

For a moment, Hotaru felt the urge to be childish and say that she had asked first, but after that moment passed, decided being immature to a stranger wasn't in her best interests.

This town and its cryptic men. It was probably Kawahira's fault, somehow.

"He says he's training."

And that was obvious, but training shouldn't be so self-destructive. She would know, she had to go through a lot of training for not just rehabilitation, but to try and catch up to the others, to make up for her absence of powers.

There was training, and then there was being stupid.

"You don't believe him?" The man sounded amused, and sure enough, the corner of his mouth was pretending to be a compass, pointing northwards.

Hotaru thought about first time she came upon his 'training', the wounds that had littered Gokudera's body, to the point where her first reaction had been to heal before asking any questions.

And Gokudera hadn't even been all that concerned about it.

"He's doing a terrible job of training." It came out a lot more clipped than she intended. Oops.

In her defense, Hotaru was on short patience recently. Half of her friends – the dumb half, Kawahira might say, to which Hotaru would verbally correct as the male half without really disagreeing with him at this point – were playing MIA and being secretive, and if Gokudera was an indication of what they were up to, which he was since she had no other reference points, then they were being very stupid.

"Is he now?"

The stranger sounded like he was asking a rhetorical question.

Hotaru chose not to answer, partly because it sounded like he agreed with her, and partly because she had just remembered that he was a stranger and she didn't owe him anything, not even further conversation.

The thought might have shown on her face, because he smiled sheepishly and offered a large hand for her to shake. "Sawada Iemitsu."

Never mind the manners – nothing against them, just odd that he was treating her like an equal instead of a younger person, a little foreign, especially considering that even the other sailor soldiers tended to be protective about her – but that last name?

Hotaru was probably being rude, but she held off on taking the extended hand to ask a question.

"Do you have a son?"

"I do." There were lines around his eyes, faint but there, and they deepened as he smiled. "Are you friends with Tsuna?"

Hotaru nodded slowly and tried to match Iemitsu's face to Tsuna's in her head. No one would deny that Takeshi was Tsuyoshi's son, but on the matter of this father-son duo, there might be more discourse.

He looked nothing like Tsuna, she thought as she belatedly shook the hand he offered, was still offering like she hadn't ignored it for a while. But he was also here, around Gokudera – who was Tsuna's friend – and the mountain where Tsuna was also training. Insane as that was.

Suddenly Hotaru was very tired. "Is Tsuna doing something as crazy as that?"

Haru hadn't mentioned anything like that, but just to be sure.

Sawada Iemitsu looked at Hotaru's frustrated gestures towards Gokudera with a crooked grin. "No."

Good. Then she just had to check on one other idiot to make sure he wasn't being self-destructive.

"He's doing a terrible job of training because he's mistaking the means and the end." It wasn't just because she was answering his earlier question. She just wanted to vent. Wanted to spill her frustrations on someone who wouldn't know. Poor Sawada Iemitsu just happened to have bad timing and ask her the right – or maybe it was wrong – question at a time when she was just tired and stressed and cranky. "Everyone dies but there's a difference."

A difference between the inevitable and the unfortunate. A difference between a death of old age in bed after a long life and a death in a fight, a murder, a suicide.

Gokudera was too reckless. Sailor Saturn had trained so fiercely for months precisely because of the nature of her powers, that of destruction. She trained because she didn't want to have to pull out her final resort, to end everything including herself. She trained so that she could fight, and at the end still return home with a smile with those that she loved so much.

Life was a gift, and that Gokudera disregarded his own so caustically grated at Hotaru's nerves since the previous day, and she hated that she had been about to take advantage of that.

And that was the main source of her anger, that she saw him being so callous about his life and wanted to use it to sate her curiosity. She was enabling his bad habit.

Was that what Kawahira had foreseen, and tried to indirectly warn her about?

"Heh." Tsuna's father huffed out a short laugh, snapping Hotaru out of a spiral of irritation towards both Gokudera and herself. He looked amused, and freely so, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. There was a little something in the way his eyes curved that did resemble Tsuna's smiles, Hotaru thought. "You're a good friend, aren't you?"

Was she? Her mood sank further.

"Look a little closer, let's see if we can't appease your worries." He pointed towards the man in the white coat, who chose that moment to give Gokudera a smack. Not one to take something like that lying down, Gokudera snapped back in reply, the exact details of his words muffled by the distance.

"He's quite the character, but that doctor's still a doctor, at the end of the day. He'll set an edgy teenage boy who doesn't fully understand the weight of his own life back straight."

Sawada Iemitsu picked up his pickaxe and set it on his shoulders, like a miner about to go off to work. "And even if he can't reach through, Gokudera has some good friends like you to make sure his head's screwed on properly."

He left with that, and Hotaru stayed a little longer. With the doctor, Gokudera was far less self-destructive, for sure. There was direction in his movements, not just blind destruction that hurt even him.

It stung, a little, and Hotaru didn't want to know why.

* * *

Uncle Mori dropped off food for them so they wouldn't starve, since neither Takeshi nor Tsuyoshi had the time to cook for themselves. Tsuyoshi because he was teaching Takeshi, and Takeshi because he was fairly sure he was about to be one with the planks of the dojo.

"Tomoe-chan came by again today," the other chef told Tsuyoshi, loud enough for Takeshi to overhear even through his exhausted collapse on the floor. "Might want to tell Takeshi that if he keeps treating his girlfriend like that, he won't have one soon enough."

His face was hot because of the exertion, Takeshi told himself, putting an arm over his eyes. Or where his eyes would be, if it weren't for the wired mask he wore for protection.

Takeshi's dad chuckled, the first laugh he gave since they started their training.

He was going to have to make up for that. If Hotaru was coming by and worrying, then she was going to be angry when he finally showed his face.

The sound of Uncle Mori leaving reached his ears, and the doors slid open to let his dad in, carrying the containers in his hands. The same hands that wielded a wooden sword with a terrifying strength and skill, one that left Takeshi staring with awe even while he was fighting to defend himself.

A mountain of a man, almost unfamiliar to Takeshi despite having been the person who was in his life the most.

And right now, he was back to being Dad.

"Let's eat, Takeshi," he said, sitting on the floor with a grunt. There was inari sushi, rice, an assortment of what seemed to be the day's leftovers from the store.

Honestly, Uncle Mori could have just brought him the store's trash and Takeshi might have eaten it gratefully. He was starving.

"By the way," Dad added as he handed Takeshi his chopsticks. "He's right, you know."

The words he'd been trying to not think about rushed right back in and Takeshi groaned.

It did absolutely nothing to deter his father. "To be honest I thought you'd end up liking Haru."

"Dad," moaned Takeshi, face burning. "Dad, no. It's not like that."

Tsuyoshi raised his eyebrows. "So you're not avoiding Hotaru because you realized you have a crush on her?"

Takeshi shook his head and cleared his throat to make sure that his voice wouldn't break. Only after he did that did he realize how much more suspicious that would look, but it was too late by then. The faint lines of his dad's face deepened with an amused grin and Takeshi's face, somehow, got hotter.

"I'm training," he pointed out, because that was the priority right now. Takeshi didn't have much time before the scheduled rematch. "And I wouldn't avoid her because of . . . I wouldn't avoid her."

He wasn't avoiding her, he was just making sure that this didn't affect her. Not like it did with the incident back then, with Kokuyo. Hotaru shouldn't have been involved, but she was, and Takeshi could do nothing except watch as she was attacked with acid. _Acid_.

The thing that their science teacher always told them to be careful about, the liquid that Takeshi never really ever thought as threatening because it was always in a bottle and no one was dumb enough to spill that on each other despite the warnings about accidents happening.

It hadn't been an accident, that day. Hotaru being able to heal herself didn't matter. Truthfully, in that moment, Takeshi had forgotten about the power she had, heart seized with terror for his friend, and him watching from afar through a screen.

 _Friend_. A friend who was not going to be involved with this. Takeshi hadn't known she could heal things like acid burns, and he didn't want to know how well she could heal wounds made by swords. On her or not.

For that, he had to win without any injuries. A flawless victory, just as flawless as the Shigure Soen Ryu.

"Takeshi." His dad was serious, but the words that followed didn't really deserve that kind of seriousness. "You've inherited the best parts of mine and your mother's features. Have confidence in your looks."

His mind, being a traitor, decided to pull up memories from that Valentine's Day when the girls were talking about their types and Hotaru saying that she liked people who had beautiful smiles and _he needed to stop now_.

"Can we eat?" he asked, deciding to change the subject. Right now, what Takeshi needed to think about wasn't feelings he may or may not have had about his oldest friend, but about feeding himself and getting more training in.

Tsuyoshi nodded, but Takeshi didn't miss the teasing glint in his eyes. Ears burning, Takeshi all but buried his face into his food.

* * *

This was more like it, Basil thought as Sawada Tsunayoshi rushed him with an animalistic, almost feral roar. This was more like what Basil had expected, the reaction he probably deserved.

But even in that rush, the primal state of nothing but the overwhelming will to fight death and live, the feeling he was familiar with after going through similar training so he could survive, Basil did not sense bloodlust, or murderous intent, or hate.

 _Because he doesn't know_ , whispered the voice of the serpent, forked tongue hissing in his ear like a ghost haunting him. It was Gabriel's voice, like it had been that day when he told Basil about Iemitsu's family and how his existence had ruined the happiness of a happy couple and their beloved son, just like how he ruined Matteo.

 _'You're a destroyer of family, who robs sons and fathers from their family.'_

The efforts of all of CEDEF made it so that Basil was never again alone with Gabriel again, and tried to hammer into him how it wasn't his fault, how none of them resented him, and that he was not, despite what the 'old fart' said, a cursed child.

They were more than he deserved.

Not this family, Basil thought, determined to make that true. No son would be robbed from the Sawada household.

'You must live, Basil.' His master had said that to him, a heavy but warm hand on his shoulder. It was a source of comfort, a shackle that tied him to the responsibility of living in honor of those that had died because of him, and a proof of salvation, what he clung to as his faith for years when he faltered in his path, when he just wanted to close his eyes and stop, to quit.

He had to live, Sawada Iemitsu told him, and so Basil lived because of the words of the man who saved him.

And now, to the person who had hurt the most because of him, who he robbed of something so precious, Basil had a chance to return those very words to him.

"Thou must live, Sawada-dono," said Basil. Live with the will to die.

He didn't seem to have understood the full implications of what Basil said, and that was fine. It wasn't his place to throw Sawada Tsunayoshi into the kind of atmosphere that would require him to fully understand what he was asking of him.

"Thou art willing to die too much."

And Sawada Tsunayoshi could not die.

It wasn't a question of mortality, or whether he could or couldn't die. Everyone could and would die.

But to Basil, Sawada Tsunayoshi was the one person who was not allowed to die – at least, not before Basil, not when there was anything Basil could do about it. Of everyone in the world, the boy who was his age, his biggest victim who didn't even know what Basil had done to him, was not allowed to die.

Even if it meant Basil's own life.

* * *

"I thought you were going to show up wearing a mask pretending to be someone else," Reborn said sardonically.

Iemitsu smiled, but it came across more as a grimace. "Yeah. Not exactly father of the year, huh?"

Reborn could have offered words of comfort. He could have told her that given Iemitsu's situation, that was the most realistic and safe decision he could make for his son while keeping him away from the mafia until it was no longer a possibility.

But he wasn't paid to be kind, and that was hardly his nature, let alone job.

Instead, he decided to tell him something both could see coming up on the horizon, at this trajectory. "You're going to regret it."

Iemitsu laughed, but it was more a wheeze, the kind expressed when pained. "I already am."

If it was just that, Reborn might have let him be. But he'd been looking after Tsuna for nearly two years, close to the boy, so he figured he could say a little more.

"Word of advice," he said, because he'd been there, done that, gotten the t-shirt that labelled him 'shitty dad'. "The 'I'll protect the kid from a distance so I don't hurt them with my very existence' isn't as good a choice as it seems in the heat of the moment."

Reborn would know. He had years of regret he was still suffering from. Aria was an angel, and some days he still wondered how he had fathered such a person.

The answer, of course, was that her mother was Luce.

"You're probably right," admitted Iemitsu. Reborn sharply raised an eyebrow at the 'probably' but decided to let it go for now. There was a file in Iemitsu's hands, and the head of CEDEF wouldn't have just come for idle chat.

He extended a small hand towards Iemitsu, who handed over the file. "During our first checks, we missed this because the agent who was investigating didn't make the connection. In the second checks, a different agent was looking into them, and saw the similarities."

Reborn pulled out the papers and froze when he saw the profile picture on the front page. Other than the headshot, there were more candid photos as if to hammer in the nails.

"Unfortunately, that's the only connection. That's why we didn't notice the first time around – we didn't have any reason to be suspicious if we didn't see-"

"Bullshit." The word was hoarse.

But Iemitsu said nothing, as Reborn read through the report. If gazes were physical, the reports would have been shredded into confetti.

Chiba Mamoru was a remarkable person, on paper. He graduated top of his class, having been a model student even while growing up without parents. He graduated as valedictorian in university and became a doctor, and in the hospital, he was a leader without being arrogant, well-liked by his colleagues. He was just, speaking out against superiors when their actions or orders clashed with his moral code, and leading changes in the hospital where it was needed. He started work a few months back with Doctors Beyond Borders, voluntarily entering an unstable country for the sake of helping others. While his assignment was nearing its end, he had nothing but glowing reviews from his coworkers in the organization.

He was, as tall, handsome young doctors even without his kind of personality and achievements were, very popular with female coworkers, but he was happily married and faithful to his wife.

He was, on paper, a perfect man. As if he had walked off the pages of a romance novel into reality.

All of that, however, became suspect. Even as the report concluded with absolute certainty that there was no connection, Reborn bristled like a wounded beast whose injuries had been prodded. This wasn't just Reborn the hitman tutor of the Vongola Decimo candidate – this was Reborn the Arcobaleno.

And both had been hit with a glove to the face.

"You're sure," he said at last, not at all happy about this.

"Positive." Iemitsu's answer was instantaneous. "We even acquired a DNA sample, although we can't compare it, obviously. Think you can manage?"

"I'll see what I can do," he answered, eventually. If anyone could get away with making this ridiculous request to one of the oldest Famiglia in Italy, it was probably him.

Ridiculous, but it needed to be checked. Reborn went over his memory, drawing up a rather sparse family tree. Was there a chance, any chance where there was an unrecorded branch? A bastard child that slipped away?

"It could be coincidence," said Iemitsu, playing the Devil's advocate. So he felt it too, that despite all these coincidences, an infinitesimally small odd that came to be, Tomoe Hotaru was not a threat.

After all, that was life. Coincidences and similarities did happen. Sometimes the long shot was the shot that made it. A coin could land on tails six times consecutively. Lightning could strike twice in the same place.

But there were too many coincidences at play, related to Tomoe Hotaru, and neither of them had survived for as long as they had by dismissing coincidences.

"What does your intuition say?" he asked. At the end of the day, sometimes things were best left up to that of primal origins. Because facts were facts, but Reborn had seen something beyond conventional logic and science far too many times to just blindly follow only what was 'rational'.

He survived by following his gut instincts, and his senses, attuned to danger and threats towards his life, said that despite all this, Tomoe Hotaru was not a threat, even as experience screamed that he would be foolish to dismiss everything as coincidence.

Iemitsu rubbed at the front of his face, the inheritor of another such keen intuition that bordered on the supernatural. "The same thing as all your reports – that she's not a threat."

And wasn't that a thorn in the shoe?

* * *

AN: A part of me is worried that readers will have figured out the big secret with this chapter and what's already revealed in Timeline, Trivia and TMI. But that's okay, there's more secrets (this person). As seen in earlier chapters, I suck at writing fight/training scenes so if they seem skimpy, you know why. Unfortunately for me the next chapter is the beginning of the ring battles.

TL;DR:

Hotaru: insane that people are training in mountains who does that.

Also Hotaru: *intense training at Titan Castle, Saturn*

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Takeshi: I've got to keep Hotaru safe!

Hotaru: *sailor soldier of destruction, bearer of a planet's star seed, second most powerful being in the solar system* What is he even up to these days?

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Reborn: yeah the 'keep your kid safe by staying away' is a sucky strategy take it from me.

Iemitsu: I'll take that into consideration.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

CEDEF, Reborn: *seriously suspicious of Hotaru due to circumstances but lacks actual proof, and cannot for life of them feel like she's a threat to Tsuna*

Hotaru: *actually not a threat, at least not in the way they think* ?

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	45. Varia IV

"I don't get why we have to do math."

A question that would be asked by many students, regardless of age, Hotaru thought as Takeshi eyed his homework in distaste. Although he seemed a little young to start his hatred of math. He still had years to go through in the public education system, and math, unfortunately, was going to be a requirement every year.

Rather than point that out, Hotaru shrugged. "How else will you know about managing your money so you can buy the things you want and need?"

"You don't need math for baseball," he grumbled.

Hotaru wouldn't know, not really. She wanted to say that math was necessary for keeping track of points but knew Takeshi's reply would be that the level of math for that was something he already had. "Even baseball players need math to make sure they're not being sweet-talked into a bad deal."

"Not if you just want to have fun," pointed out Takeshi. "I'm not going to play baseball for money, so I don't even need math."

He was smart, but in a childish way. Biting back a giggle, Hotaru cleared her throat. "But you can't play for fun if you don't pass your tests or finish your homework."

Takeshi pouted.

"Just a little more," coaxed Hotaru, sensing that he was about to give in. He wouldn't _not_ do it – he was just getting a little antsy. Still, he only had two questions left, so it was better to finish them first before letting him off his schoolwork.

"Can't you do it for me?"

"I could," Hotaru agreed, because these were simple for her. Takeshi brightened with excitement, and that cheer lasted for exactly two seconds before she crushed it. "But I won't."

"No fun," he said, but he picked up the pencil and glared at the sheet of paper with the last two unanswered questions like they were scum. "You're no fun, Hotaru."

"Life isn't fun," said the soldier of destruction who was temporarily on sick leave from her duties of protecting the solar system.

With a heavy sigh, Takeshi got to scribbling out his work on solving the first of the two questions. Hotaru could, they both knew, solve it within seconds instead of the minutes of struggle he gave both. She could even copy his writing somewhat to make it seem like it was his work.

But then Takeshi wouldn't learn anything from it, and later? In the long run?

It wouldn't help.

Takeshi was, as his mother once told a girl she met twice, astute. He didn't need to be told that 'this was all for his own good', because he sensed intuitively that she would not for his 'sake'. Even if he wasn't a fan of it, he wouldn't slack on his schoolwork.

* * *

It was a weird dream to be having. More of a memory, from the time when Takeshi was shorter than her with baby fat still rounding out his cheeks.

Maybe it was because of when she finally tracked him down, a few days back. And the reason was as breathtaking as an elephant dancing the flamenco.

"You're skipping school to learn kendo?" Hotaru repeated in disbelief.

Takeshi gave her a sheepish grin. Split logs and splinters littered the floor of the dojo, and his clothes were drenched in sweat.

"My dad said it was fine?"

 _Yes_ , Hotaru thought. _Obviously, he was fine with it_. Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, when Hotaru finally found him, had told her where Takeshi was with a big smile, saying he was proud of how far Takeshi had come.

Hotaru didn't even know what Tsuyoshi was proud of, exactly, until she followed his directions and arrived at the dojo.

"I didn't know you were interested in the sword," she said, since that seemed to be the safest thing to say. And she hadn't known, truly. It had always been baseball for Takeshi. He was good at any sport, sure, but his first love was baseball.

Kendo? That was completely out of the blue.

Takeshi perked up. "My dad used to do kendo. That's how my parents met. He came to learn from my mom's dad, and then they fell in love."

Hotaru nodded, even as she still didn't see the connection. Why was he interested in the sword all of a sudden, then? What was the urgency about?

"Takeshi," she said. "What's going on?"

His smile faltered, and his eyes fell, quick and almost reflexive, like he hadn't even thought about it before his eyes broke eye contact with her. Then, as if conscious thought kicked in, he dragged his gaze back up to her eyes.

Was he injured again? Going through a drastic change? Did something happen with the baseball team? A lot of thoughts flashed through her mind while he remained silent.

Takeshi took a deep breath. "There was a guy."

Hotaru listened quietly as he told her about the guy, a long-haired swordsman who was really strong. And how he said it was clear that Takeshi knew nothing about the sword.

"Which was true," he said with a shrug, trying to play it off casually.

Casual, were it not for the days of school he skipped and the cut-up straw and remains of shattered pieces of wood littering the ground behind him. There was nothing casual about that kind of commitment. And the timing made her think that Gokudera and Tsuna and even Kyoko's brother was also just as fired up.

Hotaru knew Takeshi, knew that when he was determined, he held on like a bulldog, refusing to let go or give up.

"Are you going to skip school for the rest of your life to be a better swordsman than him?" she asked, deliberately asking about the very extreme option he might take.

Takeshi laughed at the joke. "Nah. Just until the rematch."

"Which is when?" Because Takeshi's idea of an 'upcoming game' could be months in advance, and he had another thing coming if he was planning to keep skipping school.

"A few days." He saw the expression on her face and made it clearer. "A week at most."

A _week_.

The part of her that said being a good student was important went to war with the part of her that pointed out that technically, since Takeshi had his dad's permission, he was okay. Namimori and its weirdly lax school restrictions on what constituted as reasons for not attending school.

To think that Hotaru had been pleased back when they first learned about it, because it meant if there was ever an emergency she could get out of school.

"Just promise me," said Hotaru, before the silence could drag on for too long. "That if you get hurt, you come to me. No, wait, don't. Just call me, okay? Or go to the hospital and then call me or something, just."

Because if he tried to drag himself to her home, severely injured, then Hotaru was never going to forgive him or herself.

"Just be safe, okay?"

Takeshi had the nerve to laugh in the face of her worry.

"Promise," he said, and offered her a pinky finger.

She wrapped her pinky around his and squeezed with as much force as she could muster, which wasn't a lot. But the message got across.

Or so she had hoped, until that evening proved her wrong.

Because there weren't enough things for Hotaru to worry about with the upcoming and unwanted visitors from Tau, Kawahira stress-eating like there was a crisis in ramen production coming up, as well as whatever else was going on with Takeshi and the boys, Kyoko's brother had vanished again, this time late at night and taking the baby that was Reborn's friend with him.

That, Kyoko said, was where she needed to put the foot down.

"I can understand that he's enthusiastic to train," she said with the patience and concern of a saint. "But I can't let him take Colonnello-chan out at a late time, too."

Hotaru briefly considered calling Takeshi to join their search party, and then figured that he deserved rest, since he was training for that rematch with the swordsman. He didn't have a lot of time.

Hana didn't share her thoughts. "And so, monkeys remain monkeys, instead of actual decent human beings that would help us wander the streets in the dark looking for a brat."

Hotaru couldn't defend Takeshi, since she couldn't share with Hana the full details.

Kyoko deflated. "Sorry, Hana-chan, Hotaru-chan."

Hana winced, regret for her brash words clear at the guilt her friend was showing.

"Don't apologize, Kyoko-chan," Hotaru said. Haru wasn't here because her parents said it was too late for her to be out, but had she been here she would have denied the apology vehemently, insisting that there was no need for it. Since she wasn't, Hotaru would have to step up. "Hana-chan didn't mean it that way, and of course we'd help."

"It's nice having a little girl time, anyways," Hana said, tone perhaps a little abrasive for someone who claimed this 'girl time' was nice, but that was the embarrassment kicking in, if the light flush on her cheeks was any indication.

There weren't many people on the streets, but occasionally there were a few. An older couple taking an evening stroll. A high school student walking back home.

A tall man in an orange jumpsuit and a boy their age –

Wait. That height, that hair, and the orange jumpsuit.

"Excuse me," Kyoko was saying to the man, who turned his head, and sure enough –

"Sawada-san?"

Tsuna's father raised his hand to wave. "Evening, ladies. It's a little late to be out, don't you think?"

Hana not-so-subtly threw a glance towards the boy at his side, who wasn't Tsuna. He had dirty-blond hair and was smiling awkwardly in their direction. When his eyes met Hotaru's, he froze, eyes widening, before he ducked his head to turn his face away from her. A weird reaction.

"A little," agreed Hotaru, turning her attention from the odd boy. "But we're looking for someone. Have you seen a child about this big, with blond hair? His name is Colonnello."

She gave the description that Kyoko had given to the three people they ran into so far, raising her hands in an approximation of his height.

The boy looked at Tsuna's dad, who rubbed his chin. "As a matter of fact, I did. He was going into Namimori Middle with a few friends."

Hotaru looked back at Kyoko, who was exchanging looks of confusion with Hana at the mention of their school.

"Thank you," said Kyoko, deciding that weirdness aside, she had to prioritize the safety of Colonnello.

"We were also on our way there," said Sawada Iemitsu. "Let's go together."

"I'm sorry," said Hana, in a completely unapologetic tone of voice that did much to counter the polite choice of words. "But we haven't been introduced."

Hotaru held back a wince. Hana had every right to be on edge – he was a stranger, and it was dark.

"Sorry, Hana-chan," apologized Hotaru. "This is Tsuna-san's father. And, Sawada-san, they're also Tsuna-san's classmates."

Tsuna's father also seemed to realize what was wrong. "Pardon my manners, I must have left them back on the plane, along with half my brain and sense of time. Sawada Iemitsu, usually not so rude. And this is Basil, a student of mine."

"It's okay," said Kyoko. "Nice to meet you, sir. And you, Basil-kun."

Hana looked like she was holding back a few words, but she still kept a wary eye on the two guys joining what was a girl's night search party.

Despite her being on-guard, they soon arrived at Namimori Middle, Tsuna's father keeping things from turning awkward by asking how his son was doing. There was no hiding the genuine light of pride in his eyes when Kyoko talked about how good of a friend he was, even as he pressed a hand to his mouth to hide its curve upwards.

What they saw at the school when they arrived broke the good mood.

In some kind of a ring – a sports ring, the kind people fought in – was a bloodied Ryohei and a man with a flamboyant hairstyle and sunglasses. Shattered glass littered the ring, and it could not have been any less obvious that they'd been fighting.

" _Onii-chan_?!" The words tore out from Kyoko's throat sharply.

Everyone's attentions fell on them.

"This looks troublesome, Kyoko . . ." murmured Hana through pressed lips, and Hotaru silently agreed with her. Outside the ring, Takeshi and the boys were also there, looking a little pale. On the other side were a few men in black trench coats, and each, despite being in the same uniform, looked as unique as the man in the ring with Ryohei.

Despite the many things that could have grabbed her attention, though, one truly stood out and demanded that she focus on it, and it alone.

The pair of pinked-haired women, in leather jackets and eye-covering masks, who were looking at her.

* * *

It wasn't hard to cloak magic. There was a reason, after all, that people who were more sensitive to what was beyond the modern mindset of science and rationality didn't immediately fall to their knees when they saw Usagi or Mamoru or the other sailor soldiers. It was also why they couldn't immediately just sense previous invaders until they revealed themselves by attacking first.

It wasn't hard to disguise or hide, which is why it made Hotaru wary, that the pair of women were making no efforts at all to be subtle.

Some sailor soldiers were better sensors than most. While Hotaru wasn't as good as Rei or Michiru, she still could, and was sensitive to magic. The fact that she spent a few years without magic helped with that, too.

The pink-haired women weren't malicious. That kind of magic, the ones that the Death Busters and Nehellenia's henchmen and even the oppressive, conquering force of Sailor Galaxia – those were threatening, and feeling it was in itself a warning, intent to harm clear because magic was intent given form and power.

There was no ill intent, no will for violence. It was as obvious as a forest, but not threatening at all. They didn't have the feeling of something dark and clinging like Mistress 9 or Pharaoh 90. It was clean, almost, even as it was –

"Hotaru," a voice broke through her thoughts. Hana was tugging at her sleeve, eye on Kyoko – who was being tugged away from them by a baby matching the descriptions she herself had given to Sawada Iemitsu. He was being held up in the air by an eagle. "Let's go."

Hotaru looked back at the pink-haired women. One of them nodded, and mouthed a word.

'Later'.

A warning? A challenge? Or just a promise? Just because they didn't feel like the Death Busters didn't mean Hotaru shouldn't be on guard. Worst-case scenario, there were two enemies for the sailor soldiers to face.

She was so distracted by the pink-haired women and what they might be that she nearly missed the boys joining them.

"Hotaru?"

A hand that was a touch cooler than her forehead pressed against it, and Hotaru started. Takeshi looked at her in concern.

"Are you okay?"

Yes, just a little tired and distracted.

Instead of an answer to appease him, something else slipped out. "What are you doing here?"

Because the last time she'd seen him, he was all fired up to prepare for that revenge match against the swordsman.

He blinked, and then grinned. "Didn't you hear Gokudera? It's the hybrid sumo wrestling match."

She was fairly sure that even the Dark Kingdom didn't do something like this, and from what she heard, they came up with some very odd plots to collect energy and get the Silver Crystal. "A what?"

"It's a pretty popular thing for boys, recently," said Reborn, who was sitting on Takeshi's shoulder. "Ryohei's match was today, and he won."

Her response was the equivalent of an unspoken question mark at this point, but Reborn apparently thought that he had given enough of an explanation. He hopped off Takeshi's shoulder and landed neatly on the ground.

"It's getting pretty late," he said, as he turned and began walking towards Tsuna and his dad. "You should get some rest."

"That's true," agreed Takeshi, and turned to her. "I'll walk you home?"

"What was that ring?" Kyoko asked from behind Hotaru.

Ryohei's voice followed, a little loud for the late time. "A prize from the match!"

Hotaru had to consider the weight of her curiosity against the importance of going after those pink-haired women, who were still lurking out of sight, she could feel it. Giving off a trace as if to let her know they would be here.

Sailor Saturn took priority over Tomoe Hotaru.

Her feet faltered, before they resumed a regular pace. Her priorities had been decided.

"Okay," she said, answer not too late in coming. The town was dark, and with their homes in different directions they began to separate. Gokudera went off first, ever the loner, and Ryohei insisted, despite being bruised and bloodied, that he would walk Hana home before he and Kyoko went home. Takeshi was already at her side, and they parted from the others with a good night.

There was something deeper about the silence of night – less background noise coming together to create a constant hum.

It was the perfect kind of silence to break with a question she knew would be touchy, because while Hotaru could and would choose to prioritize following up on the pink-haired women, that didn't mean she wouldn't be asking Takeshi some questions.

"Are you participating in the sumo tournaments, too?" Hotaru asked Takeshi, because if this was why Kyoko's brother had been undergoing more training, why Gokudera had been pushing himself to the point of needing her to heal him that day, why Takeshi had picked up sword training; and why Tsuna looked ragged every day, then there was all the more reason to investigate that suspicious duo.

He didn't have to give an answer for her to know. His nervous smile, his shaking eyes told her everything she needed.

Hotaru sighed. It was so obvious that he didn't want to tell her, and given that she was going to head right back to his school when she got home –

Well, what right did she have, to demand that he spill his secrets to her?

"You know what to do if you get hurt," Hotaru said instead. Kawahira had been right about teenage boys being dumb, and she was probably enabling him. She was such a terrible friend.

Takeshi fumbled, clearly not having expected her to not ask any more questions.

"Are you mad?" he asked, after a bit of hesitation, like he was cringing in anticipation of being hit. As if he was scared of hearing her answer.

She patted him on the back to alleviate his fear. Why he was more scared of her than fighting in what looked like an illegal underground tournament with ties to suspicious magic, she didn't know. He didn't _look_ like he was affected by a spell, so it didn't seem to be a magical cause. It could have just been boys being dumb. Most likely the latter. "Not at you."

No, not at him. Takeshi, she would keep safe.

The minute she arrived at home, she contacted Luna and the others.

* * *

They weren't at war, but they were ready to fight.

Uranus, Neptune and Pluto went to their castles immediately, in case more enemies were coming from outside the solar system and this was an elaborate diversion.

Since she found the suspicious figures and they were definitely on Earth right now, Saturn went with the inners, who came through the mirror, to Namimori Middle. Later in the night, there was no one there save for the two women in masks like raccoon eyes.

Despite their punk-rock fashion, they curtseyed when they saw the sailor soldiers.

"It is an honor," said the one on the right, in a layered blouse under the black leather jacket.

The left one, in a sundress, picked up where the other left off seamlessly, as if they were one person speaking with two mouths. "To meet the sailor soldiers of the planets."

"We are the Cervello," they said in unison. "Hail, princesses of the solar system."

So this 'Cervello' knew who they were, and were treating them with at least the semblance of respect, though Saturn could not guarantee their sincerity. More than that, they knew their identity – at the very least, that of Tomoe Hotaru's.

Friend? Foe?

Saturn tightened her grip on the Silence Glaive. Jupiter didn't lower her guard. Mars narrowed her eyes. She could almost hear Mercury's brain whirling as she went through strategies and potential weaknesses, coming up with a best plan of action if necessary.

And as for Venus, she spoke.

"That means nothing to us and explains very little," she said bluntly. "Care to elaborate? Things like where you're from, what you were doing here, more information on who you are, so on. Five Ws and one H, you know."

"It is not within our authority to disclose the information you inquire of," replied the Cervello on the right.

"Don't worry about needing authority," said Venus in a falsely understanding voice. "We're not interested in who's telling us, so long as we get the what."

Either the Cervello did not catch the subtle threat lining her words, or the Cervello did not fear Sailor Venus, because they looked unaffected.

"We may not," said the left Cervello.

The chain entwined with roses weren't nearly as threatening in appearance to those who hadn't faced it in combat or sparring, but the sword that Venus had was certainly threatening enough, with its wicked sharp edge and the casual way that the sailor soldier of love twirled it in her hand, as if it was a weightless baton.

A weightless baton that could easily lop off heads. "Then who can?"

The raccoon masks of the Cervello impossible to see exactly where they were looking at, and so neither Saturn nor the others noticed the newcomer until he spoke in an unhappy drawl.

"Unfortunately, that would be me."

They whirled around, on guard, but even through her surprise – she hadn't felt a presence approach – Sailor Saturn recognized that voice.

"At least, in part." Kawahira walked up to them, mood stormy if the scowl on his face was any indication. Even the old-fashioned glasses he wore couldn't hide the distaste in his eyes towards the Cervello.

"I thought," he said softly, the gentle tone of his voice that of a false lull right before a strike. "That I made it clear I didn't want to be involved."

And that was more than enough to tell them that Kawahira was, in fact, involved in whatever was going on. Some way, some how.

* * *

There were very few things worse in the world than lying to Kyoko. For one thing, Ryohei wasn't a very good liar. For another, it wasn't right to lie.

But Sawada needed help.

The younger boy had never explicitly asked for his help, but he did. It wasn't just because Master Pao-Pao said so – something about a ring, the kind you wore, and a fight, and he didn't remember the details but it wasn't important – because it was clear in the stress that drew tension into his shoulders. Ryohei could have told him that being tense in the shoulders all the time that way wasn't good – not for boxing, and not for anything – but he didn't, because words were ineffective.

Ryohei believed in action. If Sawada was stressed about something, and Ryohei could help get rid of that, then it only stood to reason that Ryohei did. Real men let their actions speak for them, and they didn't back down when their friends needed help.

Kyoko still thought that boxing was something guys did in boxers with oven mittens. It was extremely discouraging at times when he thought about it, but Ryohei knew his sister was always supportive of him, cared a lot about his well-being, and that was why she worried. She still blamed herself for Ryohei's scar, and that was something Ryohei couldn't just beat up with his fists to make it go away.

The only way he could fight that was by doing what Kyoko asked, and not fight. He could still box, and that was enough for Ryohei, until now.

For one night, Ryohei put aside the promise. If he was going to be lying to Kyoko, and breaking his word as a man, then it would be for an important cause, and he would win because it was the least he could do for going back on his word, even for a short length of time.

It was for Sawada, who needed his help. It was his victory, to the extreme, and Ryohei was proud when he put the two halves of the rings together and presented it to Sawada, proof of a win for their side.

* * *

For the most part, Kawahira didn't like to show her his negative emotions.

He whined when Granny told him to cut down his ramen consumption and didn't really listen, and he frowned when faced with something he didn't really like, and sometimes he got into a very fragile, pensive mood that seeped out like chilled air from a block of ice when he reminisced something, but for the most part, Kawahira didn't like to show her those parts of himself.

He liked being composed, he liked portraying himself as a relaxed, breezy man. A calm river flowing at its own slow pace without regard to anything else, even if sometimes that image wavered to let her catch glimpses of a lonely man so used to be being alone that he was almost desperate for contact with someone who wasn't fully mortal, like her. Someone who was aware of the beyond, something more.

The Cervello, amazingly, brought out a part of Kawahira that Hotaru had never seen before.

It was too heavy to be scorn, too settled to be fury or rage. Hotaru could only describe it as 'loathing', because Kawahira's eyes were cold and the set of his mouth too firm, and the air he wore as spiky as the quilled coat of a porcupine.

And yet he moved towards them, even as it became obvious that he truly did not like the pink-haired women, looking at them the way Setsuna would cockroaches except without fear, just disgust.

"Cervello," Kawahira said in a clipped voice.

"Honored Acheron," replied one of the women. "It is a pleasure-"

"Don't bother," he interrupted, not even bothering to give even the slightest bit of politeness. "I'm not interested in hearing it."

The Cervello stopped speaking, and Kawahira turned to the sailor soldiers.

Pulling the corners of his lips up in a parody of a smile, he bowed, one arm horizontally placed above his stomach. "Would that we met under better circumstances. This humble servant of Terra is called Acheron. Hail, blessed soldiers of stars."

It would have probably displeased him immensely, Saturn knew immediately, if she expressed her thoughts in that moment – that for all his dislike of the Cervello, something about their greetings reminded her of each other.

For his sake, Saturn kept quiet on that.

"I think these circumstances are fine enough," said Venus. "Someone who can give a better answer than what we've gotten so far is always welcome."

Eyes no longer on the Cervello, his expression was bland now. It was the kind of expression that said he was deliberately ignoring something he didn't want to acknowledge. "A pleasure to be of use, but it is late in the night."

Saturn held back a sigh at words she'd heard a little too often this night.

"And not a story that is exactly suitable for," he paused to gesture at Namimori Middle around them. "Such a setting. In length and significance."

"You said you only have part of the authority?" Mercury asked, not missing out on previous words.

"Part," agreed Kawahira. "But even so, a fraction of a large whole is still significant."

Mars, like one of her fire arrows, struck to the point without fanfare. "What do you want?"

Kawahira sighed. "Less a want and more of a need, Sailor Mars. This is something that the prince should hear, and I believe he would appreciate a day's warning in advance. I certainly need it."

Saturn started.

"I thought you weren't going to meet Mamoru-san until he met your conditions." Not that she opposed it, but was he going to be okay?

Kawahira gave one last glare to the Cervello before he let the corners of his eyes droop, making him appear more exhausted than angry. The end result presented the image of a man sleep-deprived yet given more work right before he had been about to catch up on his desperately needed rest, one who knew that he could scream in despair but would still have to go through it all regardless. "Yes, well – desperate times, desperate measures."

Venus raised an eyebrow. "Would you consider this to be desperate times?"

With the same tired face, Kawahira looked up and over each of the inners. Jupiter's stare was the most intense, but Mars was a close second, and Mercury had her goggles on. He met all of them, and for all that he looked exhausted, there was a sharp light to his eyes.

"Not desperate," he conceded, after a moment of contemplation. "But we all have our duties, and mine was just invoked."

* * *

AN: Since canon also didn't really explain the Cervello they're mine to play with now.

I love Ryohei so much but I can't write him very well so that's why his part is very short. I don't want to write him as some stupid guy because he has depths but he's hard to write I will persevere to the extreme.

Sun battle is over, with Ryohei having won. And if you know the order of the battles, and Kawahira asking that they meet to speak the next day . . . Well, Acheron/Kawahira's an illusionist, and even in real life every conman / pickpocket/ magician knows that perception is the key to a trick.

Next chapter has a lot of talking, explaining, etc. might be a little boring but there is a revelation / bomb dropped so not too boring? Hopefully?

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

What could have been

Takeshi: there was a guy and long story short I need to learn the sword now.

Hotaru: oh so your parents' love story is repeating. That's sweet but you still shouldn't skip school for a crush.

Takeshi: wait, that's not it at all.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Kawahira: *stress eating because of the Cervello*

Cervello: We may not say anything x (infinity if necessary.)

Kawahira: You raise my blood pressure more than any amount of ramen could. *gulps down broth that's like 90% sodium like it's alcohol*

Hotaru: That's not an excuse to add to it.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	46. Varia V

Between Acheron's uncannily timed hint about proving his resolve and the opportunity for working at Doctors Beyond Boundaries, Mamoru had hesitated just as he was about to send in his application. Working abroad wasn't the only way to prove resolve. He could help, in Japan where he was as well. It might be a sense of superiority to think that going abroad was the right answer. Or, it might not be. Maybe it was him fearing going to what would undoubtedly be a challenge, far away from his wife.

In his moment of indecisiveness, Mamoru had done what many did when faced with uncertainty in their life.

He went to a priest to consult his future decisions.

Helios listened carefully to Mamoru's worried line of reasoning, following along without a single line of judgement lining his face.

For all that he looked young, and was, there was a light of understanding in his red eyes that transcended age.

The only time that compassionate face broke expression was to smile radiantly, when Mamoru mentioned Acheron's hint of 'proving his resolve'.

"I can't remember him, but he did say that if I could prove my resolve whether I'm able to recall him or not it wouldn't matter, so maybe if I'm able to prove - what is it?" Mamoru asked, breaking off in his recollections.

"It's-" Helios paused, but the joy, as bright as the sun, did not fade away easily. "Forgive me, my lord. I am just very glad that he's given a straightforward hint, for once in his life."

'Straightforward' was not the word Mamoru might have used to describe it. Helios, perhaps realizing what Mamoru was thinking, hurried to explain.

"My prince," he said. "Do you remember when I said that we were both connected to Elysion and this planet, and our hearts were one despite never having met?"

It had been years past, but he did. Circumstances like that which they had been under at the time were not easily forgotten, and Mamoru had a good memory. He nodded.

"We never met," Helios repeated. "I have never met you before that day, not in person – not you as Chiba Mamoru, and not as Prince Endymion. And though I cannot speak of Acheron with the former, I can say with certainty that he has never met you as Prince Endymion, in your past life. What he is waiting for you to remember . . . is not your non-existent memories of him."

Mamoru thought about everything Hotaru had told him, went over every word, every indirect statement from Acheron himself to Hotaru's own observations of the man. About all the time he had spent trying to remember, and how not even the spirits of the Shitennou could not recall an 'Acheron' or a 'Sephira'.

Oh. _Oh_.

Suddenly he felt as if he'd been sucker-punched in the solar plexus. No wonder he couldn't remember, all these years. He had never known. It wasn't a question of not knowing what to look for – he literally did not know the thing he was searching for. All this time he had been working off the wrong premise.

Helios grimaced at the expression Mamoru must have been making. "Acheron is . . . a talented illusionist. And illusions are essentially magical, elaborate sleights of hands. It would be easy if you were to think of him as a pickpocket, or a conman."

It seemed a rather harsh way to describe someone, when there were words like 'magician' or 'performer' to use instead. Mamoru raised an eyebrow and waited for his next words.

"He rarely speaks with just one meaning because he's the kind of man who thinks that compiling several things into one is an efficient and amusing use of his words and wit even when everyone else tells him otherwise, and tricks perception as easily as he breathes," Helios explained. "I don't mean to say that he leads you astray with ill intent, but it may be, in his own way, a test. He gives his help in roundabout ways because he's frustratingly unable to ever be straightforward with anyone, even himself."

Towards the end there was a bit of emotion in his words, Mamoru noticed. The kind that came with a bit of a grudge, or exasperation built over years. Helios noticed as well, and he flushed slightly as he took a deep breath to calm himself.

"He sounds like quite the character," Mamoru offered his impression. It also fit with Hotaru's own recollections of the man. It seemed he was consistent with people he let close.

"In his defense," Helios mumbled, flushed with embarrassment. "Sephira was a great Seer, and she always saw through him no matter how much he twisted up his expressions. Perhaps he does not deserve that defense, as that enabled him to continue on being terrible."

Sephira. Mamoru wondered if she was also someone he had not met.

For someone who called Acheron terrible, though, Helios sounded rather fond of Acheron, in the way one lamented about their trouble-making black sheep of the family affectionately. Mamoru couldn't help but envy that bond.

"But for all his flaws, he's someone who carries out his responsibilities, without demanding glory, additional power or recognition for any of it. He liked to say he doesn't care about the approval of the faceless masses, and he didn't, but undoubtedly he cared about what truly mattered."

Helios was earnest, in the way Mamoru observed children could be – unbarring, eager, wholehearted – and he wondered if Helios was aware that it was Mamoru who should be trying to appeal himself to Acheron to prevent his disapproval, not the other way around as he seemed to be doing.

"He sounds like quite the character," Mamoru repeated his earlier words, because they were, though different in intonation, still apt.

The priest laughed.

And of course, the trust of such a man would be difficult to earn. Used to hiding himself and what he thought, centuries of a duty protecting the planet only to be met with an upstart of a prince who was to be king by his birthright. No wonder Acheron wanted proof of his resolve before he even wanted to meet him. It sounded like that it was Acheron's way of ensuring that he was fit for the role.

When Mamoru said as much, Helios winced. "You are too harsh with yourself, my lord."

It was kind of Helios to say so, and maybe he was right, but there was an anxiety in Mamoru that just couldn't be banished regarding Acheron. The man was, like Helios, one of the survivors of a time from his past life, yes, but it was more than that. It was because he was the one who took care of Mamoru, when he lost his parents. Indirectly, and he never would have known if it weren't for Setsuna telling him, if Acheron hadn't revealed it to Setsuna, but still.

Mamoru was afraid of disappointing the man. For years, ever since he was six and lost his memories about life before the accident, he had never expected to have a parental figure. He had legal guardians, lawyers that made sure he was protected while growing up, but as far as memory was concerned, Mamoru never had parents. He was used to being independent, taking care of himself, standing tall without an adult figure explicitly stating their support of him.

Had he wanted such a figure in his life? More than anything. A part of why he had always pushed himself so much during his student days was because he needed something to occupy his mind, something to exert the nervous energy of his anxiety on. Being the perfect student, the perfect person, was his only defense in a world where he had no one.

After Usagi entered his life, it had grown exponentially better. She gave him not just her love, but also a family he thought he would never have. Not just in the form of the visitor from the future that was Chibi-Usa, but her own family as well. The Tsukinos, who welcomed him, and the other sailor soldiers, who were not only allies he would trust with his heart but also personal friends.

Usagi was always saving him, his salvation without even intending to be. She gave him so much.

It was stupid, Mamoru knew, but when Setsuna told him what Acheron had revealed to her, a part of him had been desperate for – a kind of family, one from before meeting Usagi. Someone he had wanted growing up in his life. Someone that, even as a grown man with a family and a happy life, he wanted in his life now, as if to make up for all the absent times before.

Mamoru recognized the illogical method of reasoning in his thoughts, but at the same time there was a desperate want for that.

He wanted to prove himself to Acheron. Not in the way he had to prove himself as more than adequate, superior even when compared to his peers who had parents unlike him, but specifically Acheron.

A tricky quest, given that the man was elusive and unwilling to meet him. Mamoru was going in blind, and nothing about him so far had impressed the man, he assumed.

"If I may, my prince?" Helios asked, hesitant but at the same time, something burning in his red eyes.

Mamoru broke out of his thoughts. "Yes?"

"Acheron might not . . . quite agree with me," Helios paused again, and winced. "And maybe I don't know myself, but. I think this is your life, and you ought to live as you would, not as Acheron thinks you should."

Startled, Mamoru felt a small laugh slip out of his lips. "So I should ignore Acheron?"

Helios gave him a small grin. "Well, I do it and all he can do to me is rub his knuckles into my head. And while it hurts and messes up my hair, I can guarantee it's not the worst thing in the world he could do."

"You're not saying he'll do that to me, are you?" Strangely enough, Helios telling him to do what he thought was best, rather than try to follow the frustratingly vague directions of Acheron was a lot more comforting than he might expect.

A priest blessing a child could not have looked more compassionate and as caring as Helios did in that moment.

"If it was your resolve, stronger than metal backing your action," he said, "then who is to say that your life has not been lived as it should?"

As young as he looked, as boyish as his face was, his words gave Mamoru great comfort, and his anxious mind a sense of peace it hadn't had in a while now.

His resolve, Mamoru decided, would have to be proven by catching two birds with one stone. He was going to do what he felt was right – what he wanted to do, as Dr. Chiba. He was going to apply to Doctors Beyond Boundaries. And he was going to prove his resolve and find a way to earn Acheron's trust – obfuscating as the man was.

Several months of working in a country where the repercussions of the civil war were still ongoing like an actual civil war, Mamoru was more than willing to sacrifice sleep to speak with Acheron over the matter of teenagers fighting grown men in fighting rings. Someone he wanted approval from not, that was just unacceptable.

* * *

Hotaru went to pick up Acheron as the sun began to set. It wasn't that she didn't trust Kawahira – it was just that she wanted to ask some questions of the man.

But Kawahira's lips would not be loosened, and in the end, Hotaru gave up because it was time to head to Usagi and Mamoru's house.

She transformed into Sailor Saturn, while the form of Kawahira Riku dissolved away, and let Hotaru meet Acheron for the first time.

Years she had lived with him, but as Kawahira Riku. The man before her was the man she'd caught glimpses of – the one hidden behind the curtains of the old house's curtained windows, revealed at last.

Acheron was far handsomer than Kawahira, with sharper, smarter features. The lack of thick, unfashionable glasses over his eyes might have helped with that, too. No longer covered, even his eyes were of a different color – pale blue, like that of a glacier's underside.

Overall, he was a sharply handsome man, the kind whose face might off-put some people from immediately approaching him in fear of being verbally shredded.

Even his choice of dress was a far cry from his usual preference for comfortably worn kimonos. His clothes were loose in form, but clearly made to fit his size. Unlike the light-colored tunic and trousers Helios wore, Acheron wore a dark navy cassock with long, wide sleeves. Over the garment he wore an overcoat similar to a scapular, except for the short sleeves that came to an embroidered end mid-bicep, black silk threads drawing out outlines of lotus flowers and leaves on the edges. On one hand, he wore a ring with what appeared to be a mass of worms or snakes clustered on it.

Kawahira was a frequently exhausted man who was, despite his preference for being mysterious, sometimes goofy and playful, who justified eating unhealthy food through twisted logic and was slapped on the wrist for it. A man who was lonely and didn't fully seem aware of it.

The man before Saturn was Acheron, not Kawahira Riku, and there was a remarkable difference in presentation.

Where Helios was every bit the priest who would pray for the salvation of the damned and grant forgiveness, Acheron looked more like an inquisitor, ready to smite down sinners and pronounce words of judgement over heretics forced to bow at his feet.

Were it not for the fact that he was frowning, as if he was rather nauseous, Saturn might have made a joke about how he could dress to impress when he wanted to.

"Are you okay?" Saturn asked. He looked like he was going to throw up.

"I think I might vomit," admitted Acheron, confirming her observation.

Saturn turned around, saw the empty bucket that served as an umbrella holder for Granny on rainy days, snatched it up and shoved it in front of him.

He accepted it with a small grateful nod, but didn't throw up, just continued to clutch it like a lifeline.

"What's gotten you so nervous?" asked Saturn. Kawahira was remarkably skilled with putting on a mask – a show, of sorts. In the few interactions she had seen him have with those other than Granny and herself, Saturn could say with certainty that while he might not enjoy social interaction, he was excellent at it to the point that even while dressed like he was asking the fashion police to arrest him, he could engage in a friendly conversation with anyone within five minutes of meeting them.

Right now, wearing his true face, he just looked miserable and sick.

"This is _not_ ," he said, slowly. "How I expected my meeting with Chiba Mamoru to go."

Saturn waited, but he didn't elaborate, only continued to breathe evenly, until some of the sick color settled down and he no longer appeared close to exposing the contents of his stomach.

"Do you want to call it in?" Saturn asked, thinking about the method she used back when her 'allergy' was ongoing and she could not physically be present for any discussions about her condition.

Acheron shook his head. "Thank you, but – no."

The last trace of anxiety disappeared, and he was, like she originally thought, a very sharp-looking man.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Let's do this."

* * *

It was a matter of pride, and resolve, and everything he held dear.

Could he tap out? Well, yes. He could do that. Forfeit, surrender, give up, whatever. Lambo could do that and Tsuna would not rebuke him. He would be relieved, probably, tell him that he had made the right choice and genuinely mean it.

It was because Tsuna was that kind of person that Lambo couldn't give up. He'd been the Lightning Guardian by default for so long, and he knew what was said about him – nepotism, timing, dumb luck for the dumb cow. A sparrow among hawks, the one that didn't belong.

Bleeding badly, in pain, Lambo reached the bazooka and jumped in. Was it running away? Yes.

But the bazooka let him call in himself from a different time, a Lambo that could taken on an officer of the Varia and give Tsuna a winning chance. Technically, he came from a time where the battles for the rings had already been won – though he didn't really remember it.

But if time was going to be weird and out of order around him because of the bazooka, well, then, he'd just do everything he could to shift the odds in their favor yet again, and set things on the course towards the future he wanted to see.

For all that Lambo was the youngest of the Vongola Guardians, the useless one, the liability –

Lambo was not going to give up. Not this battle, not the position of the Lightning Guardian, and not the Vongola. Not Tsuna.

The world exploded in the familiar pink smoke, and through the pain and the haze covering his sight, Lambo smiled.

* * *

Despite his earlier anxiety, Acheron handled things very smoothly. He did make a very annoyed face – made more intimidating than usual because he was Acheron right now, not Kawahira – when he saw that the two pink-haired women were waiting for them outside of Mamoru and Usagi's house, in chitons instead of the clothes like yesterday's, but other than that, he was smooth in his manners.

Hotaru, after arriving and undoing her transformation, observed him with a careful eye, but he showed nothing except a perfectly relaxed mien the whole time. He knelt in what might have been a textbook example of court manners before Mamoru and Usagi, and polite bows to everyone else, and introduced himself calmly as 'Acheron, priest of Elysion'.

Mamoru looked a little taken aback, until he identified – around the same time as Hotaru realized what was going on – that Acheron's politeness towards him was passive-aggressive in nature. The kind of politeness that was chilled, as if butter would not melt in his mouth at that moment.

Passive-aggressive snubbing was something Mamoru was more than capable of handling, and so he dealt with it by getting straight to the point while Hotaru, groaning internally, made a mental note to kick Kawahira in the shins later. This was _not_ the best way to be dealing with his anxiety at all. Of all the defense mechanisms to employ, he had to go with frigid politeness.

"Who are the Cervello?" Mamoru asked bluntly. This was not Mamoru, cautiously curious about Acheron and Kawahira, hesitant like he was afraid of being burned. This was Mamoru, who did not need Acheron's approval, but rather was demanding an explanation for all this if he was going to sanction Hotaru's friends fighting adults in what sounded like an illegal fighting ring.

And the other sailor soldiers were, while planning on asking questions when necessary, all in agreement to let Mamoru be the one doing most of the talking tonight.

Acheron drummed his fingertips together, a parody of a villain from a movie, except it rather suited him. Not helpful in leaving a great first impression, or even a decent one.

"The Cervello," he said, almost musingly. "Are an organization made up of homunculi."

All of their eyes flitted to the pink-haired women in the dress of the Maenads from Elysium, and then back to him, with the question of 'why?'

"They were created by the priestess Sephira, shortly before her death," he continued, unaffected by the looks being sent in his direction. "As a way to make sure that a promise she made could be kept even after her passing."

"Homunculi?" Ami repeated, because to make a homunculus was one thing – weird as it was. To have an organization of them sounded rather structured and far more complex. And ominous.

"Born from a modified charm for creating homunculi grafted onto an enchanted tree," Acheron explained, because the mechanisms behind their creation had definitely been what the question implied she wanted to know. "They're basically artificially intelligent fruits shaped like people."

Sometimes the truth was weirder than anything they could have imagined. It would have been predictable to hear that the Cervello were drones or foot soldiers of a foe, but to hear Acheron's summary of things was a shock in a different way.

"What was the promise?" Mamoru asked, instead of further asking why a walking, talking fruit was trying to keep a promise. "And who was it for?"

Acheron looked at Mamoru, gaze observant. Two men, opposites in coloring, stared at each other like a twisted mirror.

As the one who was asked a question, Acheron gave first.

"It was a promise she made to friends she loved very much," he whispered. "Who were unfortunately met with much misfortune. Sephira, always compassionate, made a promise out of her sympathy even as she was dying, to let them be happy."

A priestess – the most powerful of the guardians that survived the Silence Glaive and the fall of the Silver Millennium – who made a promise even as she died. An organization of homunculi created to oversee the promise fulfilled.

There was a buzz under Hotaru's skin, something tugging at her to look deeper. There was something about this.

As well as unanswered questions. Why now? Why here?

"That promise involves boys in middle school fighting adult men?" Mamoru had heard from all of them, Saturn included, on what they witnessed. While Hotaru had been the only one to see – and even that, near the end when Kyoko's brother took out his opponent with a clean punch – Mamoru's sense of justice and instinct to protect still kicked in fiercely. He did not approve.

"Certainly," said Acheron casually. "Their reincarnations could have been timed better, but we can hardly choose the circumstances of our birth or know for certain what comes up in our futures."

One moment of silence.

"What?" said Hotaru, a sentiment echoed by almost everyone in the room.

"I mean," said Acheron, still too casual like he had not dropped a bomb just then and there. "You are not the only ones reborn with a destiny pulling them towards a path."

It felt like her mind had been struck by a bolt of lightning, with how blank it had gone. He wasn't saying –

"Granted," Acheron added to the stunned room, like an afterthought. "It's not as grand as a destiny two millennia in the making, or in the scale of things. A solar system versus a group of friends – hardly a fair comparison."

He was. Hotaru stared at him.

"You're saying," said Setsuna, quickest to regain her wits and think not just about what was said, but what that meant and connecting the dots. "That Hotaru's friends, due to their previous lives, are currently engaged in battle."

"Well, when you put it _that_ way," Acheron muttered, furrowing his brows distastefully. "It sounds like they were just born to fight."

That snapped them out of it, because while they had been reborn to live their lives, they were, at the end of the day, sailor soldiers, carriers of star seeds of their planets, born to protect what was the home of their souls.

"What does that have to do with them fighting now?" Mamoru asked. While he was stunned by the revelation of their reincarnation, he would not let that be the thing that made him back down.

"It's a bit of a long story," Acheron said, almost evasively – but he maintained eye contact, as if he expected a certain reply and wanted to see for himself if it would be given.

"We have time," Mamoru replied.

Acheron nodded compliantly at that, and began to explain.

"Approximately – one hundred and eighty or so years ago? It's been a while, I may be wrong in my estimate. But around that time, there was a group of young men with a strong sense of justice in a world that was nowhere near as just or as kind as they were. Chaotic times, power vacuums, dawn of a new age, things like that. The kind of times where the weak have their voices and lives stifled."

Acheron waved his hand, and mist began to crawl in a swirl around him. From the mist, one by one, illusions of seven men began to rise.

"By this time the age of heroes was long dead," he added. "No more warriors of old, knights in shining armor slaying monsters to save the fair maiden, no more favors of gods from the heavens. In some areas, admittedly, they made progress, but in others they lost so much. Somehow that state of 'enlightenment' the arrogant men of science and progress were so proud of became the rationale for being callous, uncaring towards a fellow living being. The world was on the cusp of change, and that change left cracks many fell through to a hellish life."

The first man was one in a black mantle, golden clasps over his chest holding it in place over the pinstripe suit he wore. Pale golden hair shot up towards the sky in spikes, and there was a serenity to his eyes that only the balanced could have.

He looked like Tsuna, Hotaru realized. If someone said they were related, she would believe it.

"And that was why Sephira loved them," said Acheron. "Because rather than be swept up in the greed of the age that possessed so many others, they chose to take the hard path and fight for the sake of those weaker than them."

The second one to rise was notable in the large and conspicuous tattoo, like fire, covering the right side of his face. Where the Tsuna-lookalike was dressed like he was modeling how to wear a suit properly, the redheaded man was laxer in fashion, with a few buttons left undone and green tie loose. More than ample room to display the purple crystal pendant hanging from a thin strap of leather around his neck.

"What do you mean by that?" Mamoru asked, but there was a catch to his voice like he suspected something.

The third one made both Setsuna and Haruka stare in recognition, because other than the platinum blond hair, the man was the spitting image of Hibari Kyoya. In a dark grey trench coat and a no-nonsense, sharp look to his face, but there was no denying the similarities. If Hibari Kyoya was an adult with different coloring, that would be him.

"They were vigilantes," said Acheron. "When the law protected only the rich and powerful, and innocents had their lives torn apart amidst a game for power, they sought to protect, even through means illegal at the times. If the law would not protect those who needed it most, then they would."

The fourth was a tanned man in the dark robes of a priest. A long red scarf hung uncrossed from his neck. Unlike Acheron, the other priest in the room, this one had a brighter air to his face, like someone filled with enthusiasm for everything, in a good way. It made Hotaru believe that this priest had been a vigilante, unable to stand and do nothing at the sight of injustice.

No one present in the room had anything against vigilantes.

"What does that have to do with their lives now?" Usagi asked, repeating the question when Mamoru was unable to.

The fifth figure was an outlier in the fashion of the men so far. While their styles had been diverse, there was no denying that the root was western in origin. In a blue and white _joe_ and wearing an _eboshi_ on his head, his clothes were undeniably Japanese.

"It has, unfortunately, a not-inconsequential effect," said Acheron, before adding for Hotaru's benefit, with a nod towards the fifth, "this one is the previous life of Yamamoto Takeshi, by the way."

Even if he had not told her, Hotaru would have known. The man in the white and blue robes was different from her friend, but there was the same kind of relaxed air, the same light in their eyes.

"'He who fights monsters should be careful lest he thereby becomes a monster'," quoted Acheron, words said lightly despite their weight. "'And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes back into thee.' They faced greed and the darkest parts of human desires, and while they did not let themselves grow into monsters, it extracted a price from them nonetheless."

The sixth was a young man with curly green hair, a small tattoo in the shape of a lightning bolt under his right eye. He looked lazy, and was dressed in a similar manner to that of the redhead with the larger facial tattoo – shirt with buttons not fully clasped, trousers, simple and almost casual.

"The price was their happiness, wasn't it?" Like Hotaru, Mamoru had been looking at each of the men as their features were revealed. He might not know Tsuna, or Takeshi, but it didn't stop him from observing them carefully, even as he listened to Acheron's recollections.

One corner of the lips that had been speaking so far twisted upwards in a smile. It was far from a happy expression – instead, it made Acheron look quite bitter.

"Indeed," he agreed. "Exhausted, heartbroken, full of regrets, much lost and torn from their hands, they left their homes, almost driven out by the very people they fought so hard to protect. Rather than stay as monsters, they left to remain humans. To the end, they chose to love rather than hate."

Hotaru waited, but the seventh man remained a faceless shadow, features unrevealed.

"What about this one?" asked Makoto when nothing continued to happen.

Acheron made a face. "I didn't like him. He was annoying."

Though he sounded sincere, the blunt expression of dislike, almost childish in his honest expression, did something to break the serious air. Even as she was dumbfounded Hotaru found this familiar – the part of him that was Kawahira around her, the one she knew peering through the elusive guardian that was Acheron.

That familiarity gave her a relief to the tension she hadn't been fully aware of until now.

Mamoru looked at the seventh figure, and then turned his eyes back on Acheron.

"How does that tie to the present day, where children are fighting?" he asked for the third time.

"We are able to explain," the Cervello cut in, before Acheron could say something. Acheron shot a brief glare but closed his mouth to let her speak without being interrupted by her. "The battles are challenges over the rightful ownerships of the rings."

Acheron put a hand over his eyes as if resigned, or as if his eyes were giving him great pain.

"And why do they need to fight over the rightful ownership of these rings?"

"The rings are gifts, from Lady Sephira to her friends," said the other Cervello, speaking in turns like they did the other night.

"It is to them that she tied her last promise."

"And it is through them that the reincarnations of her friends will receive the chance to address the remnants of their past lives."

"Maybe," growled Acheron before Mamoru could ask a different question or say exactly what he was thinking regarding the intelligence levels of the artificially intelligent fruits that were the Cervello. He sounded very done with it all. "Start with reassuring them by sharing what your talents are and what you Saw."

The Cervello exchanged glances, nodded, and then raised their hands to their masks.

Acheron turned his head away, as if he didn't want to see, and a moment later Hotaru understood why.

Under the masks, like there were roots running just under the skin, veins ran thick. Or maybe they weren't blood vessels but scar tissue, knotting together and around the eye sockets.

Only one eye socket was filled, for the both of them. The other hung loose, empty and without eyes. The one on the right had her right eye blinking and whizzing back and forth, and the one on the left had an eye in the left, pupil bouncing around.

A moment after, the left Cervello's eye actually bounced out, falling onto the floor of Usagi's living room with a wet plop, and someone let out a strangled shriek of surprise at the sudden gore. Hotaru couldn't say with certainty that it wasn't her.

Now eyeless, the Cervello bent her knees and patted carefully until she found the eye again and raised it to the socket. With a squelch that made Hotaru's stomach churn, she popped it back in. Then, she and her partner both wore their masks again.

"Sephira made the tree they were born from," Acheron said, still not facing their direction. "Unfortunately, after her death, the Cervello's tree was severely damaged due to a fire. Sephira's retainer Apollonia did the best she could to restore the tree, but it never remained the same, and neither did the Cervello."

Mamoru's eyes shot towards Acheron at that, and he looked contemplative. "You don't want me to think badly of her."

That got Acheron to finally look in Mamoru's direction, though his face remained blank.

"You said that, because you didn't want to leave us with the impression that Sephira made them this way on purpose." Mamoru winced, and quickly apologized to the Cervello. "No offense."

The Cervello didn't respond, but Acheron nodded.

"No one wants their sister to be remembered badly," he answered. "Especially when she sacrificed so much for others. Even on her dying deathbed, she worried about this planet, and for your sakes."

He broke the gaze, and looked at the Cervello impatiently. They received the unspoken order and explained. In their own vague ways.

"Despite the damage from the flames, Lady Apollonia was able to restore the tree using other methods."

"In the process, we received partial Sight. That is to say, limited knowledge of the future related to the rings we are sworn to watch over."

"The rings are not fully sentient, but they are undoubtedly special, and have their own spirits."

"They choose those whose resolves are strongest and most determined according to what they remember – and they will choose first and foremost those whose souls have imprinted memories upon them."

Mamoru opened his mouth, but there was a strangled sound, and it came from the priest who looked ready to throttle the Cervello, or himself.

"I swear," Acheron muttered. "Cervello – will anyone engaging in the ring battle die in the battles?"

"No," said both of the Cervello at the same time.

"Do they," Acheron paused, looked at Hotaru, and amended his question. "Does anyone fighting on the side of Sawada Tsunayoshi, including Sawada Tsunayoshi, become injured past the point of recovery during the battles?"

The reply was the same as before. "No."

"In your visions, who wins the battles, and therefore the ownership of the rings?"

"Currently, Sawada Tsunayoshi and his guardians."

Acheron rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And what might change that?"

"The rings choose those whose resolves are strongest and most determined according to what they remember. As of now, Sawada Tsunayoshi and his guardians have stronger resolves. If they lose their resolve or determination, the outcomes will also change."

"I should have just done this from the start," Acheron lamented, looking ten years older. "There you have it. Sawada Tsunayoshi and company are not going to die in this fight. Or get seriously hurt."

Mamoru took a deep breath. "They have partial knowledge about the future?"

The Cervello on the right answered that. "Only in relation to the rings."

"And the future is fluid, not set in stone."

Acheron pointed to the Cervello. "And that's why they – why we – ask that you not interfere with the ring battles."

"Because you don't want the outcome of victory to change?"

Acheron shrugged.

"While whether they lose or win doesn't matter to the world, per say, it's a personal matter for me. If they are defeated, that is on them, to find a different way to happiness. But currently, this is their choice, and though they are not cognizant of it, they are fighting for the chance to resolve the very problems they were torn apart by in their previous life. This is their chance to address wrongs they could not before," he said. "Change what they were forced to submit to before. To come out victorious, and to be happy. I suppose. Their chance, without others involving themselves."

Mamoru raised his eyebrow at the addition of uncertainty. "You suppose?"

He ignored the disapproving glint of light in Mamoru's eyes. "I don't remember _my_ past life, so I can't exactly be an expert on the subject. But from what I've observed of people being reborn, I can say that the past life leaves a trace on a soul. I imagine it is similar to facing the returned evils of the Dark Kingdom, or finding new roles in new lives that weren't possible in the previous ones. Not letting your past lives be the things that determine your present, even as you resolve problems from then."

This conversation wasn't a battle, but if it had been, then they would have lost it with that. They did know, what it was like. To be tied to something beyond just their current lives, to fight it and end a clinging bond that stuck with them through the cycle of life and death.

"They fought for their dreams, for the safety and happiness of others in their previous life, and died in regret after failing," Acheron continued. "Even if they were to fail, even if it is not the same, would you deny them their chance at a second try?"

Like Acheron said, it wasn't the same. But at the same time, none of them, with who they were and how they had come to be, could say that such a thing shouldn't be done.

* * *

With their bases melted, the lightning rods couldn't stay as they were, tall spears pointed towards the raining skies to call down lightning upon the field and the fighters inside their boundaries. They fell over with a sound nearly as loud as thunder, and the field was ruined.

There were no stars in the sky. The clouds covered what lights might have been given by stars, or the moon, and the night was dark. He should have been unable to see anything.

But he could see, because the area around him was bright with the fire on his head, and his two hands. The conducting metals in his hands, melted and no longer able to hold their shape, fell to the ground when Tsuna dropped them.

"Tsu . . . na . . ." Lambo croaked from where he was, hurt and beaten.

The flame began to grow smaller, and Tsuna felt the calm state slipping away. "The Vongola Rings, the position for the next boss . . . no matter how important you tell me those are."

Saying this, Tsuna knew, would cause him trouble. But he had to say it, had to stand by it. "I can't battle for such things."

The light from the fire on his head and hands disappeared as the flame flickered out, and it was dark. The contrast from light to being plunged into darkness made it impossible for him to really see, and so his last words he shouted to the unknown masses of shadows whose features he could not make out. "I don't want my friends to be hurt!"

He turned out to be right. Xanxus attacked him, and the Cervello that tried to stop him, and the other Cervello confiscated the Lightning Ring and his half of the Sky Ring.

"Rejoice, morons," Xanxus said, sneering. "I am going to give you another chance."

He leaned against the structure on the roof, looking down upon them all like a lion perched on a rock. "We will continue the rest of the matches as usual. If, by any chance, you lot can win this battle by majority, I will give you the Vongola Rings and the position of the boss."

That sounded too . . . not 'good', but not in character with what Tsuna saw of Xanxus so far. Not with the man who just said that with the Sky Ring now his, the rest of the Ring Battles were no longer relevant.

"But if you lose," Xanxus continued, because of course there was a catch. "Everything you hold dear will be eliminated."

The threat of everything he held dear being destroyed by the violent Flames that Xanxus used was far more terrifying than losing the position of the boss, or the rings.

"What should I do . . . ?" Tsuna asked, on their way back home. Suddenly every step felt heavy, because with every step he was remembering things he held dear. His friends. His mom. His home. His life.

"Lambo didn't recover yet," Ryohei said, somberly. Tsuna looked at the others, and knew they were all thinking of the same person. It wasn't their secret to share, so they kept quiet on that.

"On top of that," continued Reborn. "Xanxus is serious now. He won't hold back on the violence."

"One win, two losses," said Gokudera, concern weighing down his voice. It was especially hard on him, because his battle was next. "If we lose the next match, we won't have any more chances."

And that was because of him. He just put them in danger, just increased the pressure on Gokudera.

"You did well," said Reborn, when Tsuna voiced his worries – that he might have been reckless, endangered them all. There was no insult, no smacking him, just a simple phrase. Perched on Yamamoto's shoulders like it was the most comfortable seat in the world, Reborn dispelled his anxiety with a few words. "The Vongola doesn't need a boss who abandons his men."

Tsuna still didn't want to be the boss, and they weren't his men, just his friends.

But Reborn was right, in that he wouldn't abandon them.

They were in danger. Xanxus was going to destroy everything precious to him if they lost.

He was going to fight Xanxus, at the end of these battles, and to make sure the worst outcome didn't come true, he needed to win.

And for that, Tsuna needed . . . .

"Reborn," he said, knowing that he was voluntarily signing up for what would feel like training from hell. It would probably be the hardest training Reborn put him through, harder than what he put Tsuna through up to this point.

But he would take it. He could take it. He had to take it. "I want to become stronger."

* * *

AN: I have been saying for a very long time that Saturnine is not canon and this was one of the reasons why. Could I have made it canon? Probably but that would take extra work so it's not (this person).

The 'Reincarnation' tag never just referred to just the sailor soldiers which is a plot twist, I hope.

For those who follow me on Tumblr I think I once mentioned I might write a story about how Teresa Pasta (see Interlude II) was reborn eventually as Giglio Nero Lightning Guardian Silvia (see Mikrokosmos), who was reborn eventually as Miura Haru. I was worried I gave away the secret back then, but no one was like hey so if Teresa reincarnated as the Giglio Nero guardian who reincarnated as Haru does that mean the Vongola 10 are reincarnations of Vongola 1. Thanks for not spoiling guys.

English does not have a word for Nidana/인연/ **因** **緣** so just imagine me scrambling to find a way to write it in a way non-Buddhist people can sort of understand the implications.

This is a chapter where both Mamoru and Acheron are anxious and that's fun. They are anxious because I am anxious and I don't believe in suffering alone.

The Cervello having an eye each is partially inspired by the Graeae Sisters of Greek mythology. Not in full, but partially. Since Cervello means 'brain', and brains have two halves and two eyes and all, and the Cervello are always in pairs, I thought it might be fun to make it so that each pair shares a pair of eyes.

Acheron and Cervello absolutely chose to confront Mamoru and the senshi on the day when they wouldn't have been able to stop them if they saw just who was fighting, because how are you going to explain a five year old fighting against a full-grown man as a second chance given by reincarnation to set things right. Sneaky bastards.

TL;DR

Helios: (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ* (resolve? Acheron I'm so proud of you! You're not messing with him as much as usual! That's so straightforward, I knew you had it in you!)

Mamoru:【・_・?】

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Hotaru: do you want to call it in?

Acheron: While that would accurately reflect how meetings are done due to the quarantine, no thank you.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Acheron: *strongly disliked and still dislikes Giotto et al., with exception of Asari Ugetsu who he was sort of friends with*

Also Acheron: *speaks somewhat well of them because Sephira also took that career path*

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Acheron: *about Daemon Spade* I didn't like him. He was annoying.

Daemon Spade: *has been humiliated in an illusion battle against Sergio Tiberinus once; never got along with him; was nearly killed by Sergio once* eXCUSE ME?!

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Acheron: *does everything he can to tell the truth while trying to not have the sailor soldiers or Mamoru interrupt the ring battles*

Cervello: Yeah so they fighting for rings herp derp.

Acheron: *I hate my life* Am I a joke to you?

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


	47. Varia VI

Before he left, Acheron gave his own version of a peace offering.

"If you're so worried about the outcome of the ring battles," he suggested. "Then why not watch?"

"Honored Acheron!" said the Cervello, twin voices raised in alarm. Acheron grimaced at the sound but continued to speak as if they hadn't reacted.

"I can just cast an illusion over you and keep you hidden from detection while you observe for yourselves," he said. "There are five more remaining."

The Cervello, too, would not be ignored. "Honored Acheron, none may interfere in the battles."

"Only the participants of the battle are to be involved. Should outsiders involve themselves, the battle is defaulted, in favor of the side not related to the outsider."

Acheron waved them off dismissively as Hotaru blinked in surprise.

Haruka sighed.

"The three of us are on watch duty," she said. She and Michiru, having a freer lifestyle and career path, were on patrol most often, having cancelled any participations in concerts or races for the next month in anticipation of Tau's predicted invasion. Even Setsuna, who had lectures and office hours, was spending all of her free time in Charon Castle, on watch duty.

None of them wanted a repeat of what had happened during Galaxia, when they were attacked and killed in their own castles shortly after arriving. Being caught off-guard once was once too many.

Since Hotaru was the youngest, her parents insisted that she be well-rested so that when she was needed, as the crux in the strategy, she could come immediately to fight.

A hand clapped down on Hotaru's shoulder. Minako beamed with confidence, straight white teeth bared. "Then I guess Hotaru-chan will be watching with us."

"We cannot have outsiders be involved in the battles," the Cervello protested.

"Didn't Hotaru-chan say there were others watching?" Rei pointed out coolly.

"Audience. They, too, are not permitted to step in."

"Should they do so, the side that benefits from the interruption will lose their ring automatically."

Makoto stepped up, to Hotaru's other side, drawing herself to her full, impressive height. "Then all we have to do is not step in, yeah?"

The Cervello exchanged looks, masks keeping their faces blank.

"I will also be there," reminded Acheron. "For the illusion. If they are about to interfere, I will stop them."

After another exchanged look, the Cervello nodded, and with a short farewell, they departed. Acheron, too, followed their example, leaving quickly as if he was afraid of staying for additional conversation.

"Shouldn't I be on standby?" asked Hotaru now that they were alone.

Usagi shook her head.

"Hotaru-chan, you're worried about your friends. Even if we can't interfere," she said with distaste, like she wanted to stick her tongue out at these rules. "You still want to at least watch, don't you?"

To make sure they were fine, like Acheron and the Cervello swore they would be. Yes.

"I don't think the fights will last so long that your condition will be severely affected by watching them," offered Ami. "In fact, if you were to be stressed about not being able to see for yourself what was going on, that might end up being more detrimental."

Hotaru didn't so much as waver as she tipped straight forwards, headfirst at the excuses they offered her, kind souls that wanted her to be happy.

"But," she said, the last shred of responsibility keening to make itself be known by her and stand out. "If anything happens, contact me immediately?"

"Of course," said Michiru as Haruka said at the same time. "That's the plan."

The inners, as they were on guard on Earth rather than in their castles, offered to go with her.

"Since Mamoru still has two more weeks in his placement with Doctors Beyond Borders," Ami said, pulling up a schedule on her monitor. "Rei can go with you tomorrow, I think, and either Minako or I the next."

"I could go the day after," volunteered Usagi, and was immediately shot down by Ami.

"Usagi-chan, you have midterms coming up."

The blonde groaned as if in pain. "But Ami-chan…."

Ami would not be budged. "Let us handle this, Usagi-chan. We don't want you to fail your courses."

Usagi looked like she would rather fail, but wisely did not say that to Ami.

* * *

Haru liked children.

It was possible that a part of it was due to their innocence and youth – a kind of energy that adults lost and could never quite get back. Haru retained more of it than her peers, and maybe it was that kinship that made her love them so much.

That, and her just nature always seeking to fiercely protect those that were vulnerable.

Due to that, she loved the children staying at Tsuna's house. Futa, who was from Chu in his previous life. I-Pin, who was less than fluent in Japanese but not letting language barriers be an issue.

And Lambo, energetic and full of life.

Lambo, who was far from his usual state, instead injured and in a hospital bed. Hooked up to an oxygen mask in a private hospital room, unconscious.

"What happened?" Hotaru whispered, horrified that something like this would have happened while she had been in Tokyo with the others.

"He fell from the roof after being struck by lightning last night," answered Reborn. He looked grim, as if he were angry with nature itself for the injury of his friend.

There was something weird about that story, though, because - "Why was he on the roof?"

"Lambo likes lightning storms." Reborn lowered his gaze to the sleeping boy, eyes dark with grief. "It was scary."

Tsuna shuddered, and Hotaru bit down on her lip for her careless comment.

"It'll be okay," she promised Reborn. For all that he was usually mature, of course he was worried about his friend. It must have been terrifying to witness, and Lambo lacking his usual vibrancy must not have made it better.

Tsuna opened his mouth, seemed to think of something, and closed it without saying anything.

"Thanks, Hotaru-san," he ended up saying. He looked exhausted. "Thank you so much."

Hotaru healed Lambo, and by the time she was done – a process that took a while – he was still asleep but breathing more easily.

He probably wouldn't need the oxygen mask anymore, Hotaru thought, satisfied with her work.

Reborn tipped his hat at her. "Thank you."

She smiled at the baby's adorable gesture and gave a little curtsey in return.

"You'd make a good doctor," Reborn said, sitting at the foot of the bed and giving Lambo space. "Is that what you're going to be?"

Hotaru shook her head, and accepted the can of juice Tsuna had brought while she was healing Lambo with a murmur of gratitude. "A nurse, actually."

Reborn nodded thoughtfully. "You would be an excellent nurse."

Pleased that he wasn't going to argue about how doctors were better than nurses like so many tended to do, Hotaru let her lips lift upwards into a soft smile. "Thank you."

"I didn't know you wanted to be a nurse," Tsuna said. Hotaru thought back, and realized that while she'd told the girls – and Takeshi – about her dream, she had never told Tsuna. It had just never come up in conversation.

"My biological mother was one. I'm told she was, anyways," she added, as an afterthought. "Before she got married and had me. And Setsuna-mama worked briefly as a school nurse before, too."

The nurses in her life were good role models for Hotaru. The doctors, too – Mamoru and Ami were excellent role models – but the scope of practice for doctors were in treatment.

Not to say that nurses didn't, but the primary focus of the nurse was oriented around care of the patient.

And that was why Hotaru wanted to be a nurse. As the soldier of destruction, she knew better than most just how inevitable the end was, and how, ironically, the very aspect of death being inevitable made life all that much more precious. So very precious.

There was more to life than just living – just breathing, and eating, and sleeping.

"That's – that's a pretty awesome family thing to continue on," Tsuna said with a wistful light to his eyes, almost as if he envied that.

It really was. Hotaru beamed.

"I like to think that it's being able to care for other people that made us want to choose nursing," she said. Her mother had been a kind soul – even in a previous life, as shared by Sailor Cocoon – and Setsuna, though her time working as a school nurse had been short, relished the chance of being able to help others closely, hands-on, rather than watching from afar.

"And even if I can't use this as a nurse," she added, gesturing with her hands, "I still want to do that."

The power to heal was a part of her that she liked, despite being careful to not just reveal it to anyone. The part that was proof of how destruction was more than just a meaningless end.

One day, Hotaru thought. Even after Usagi and Mamoru became queen and king, Hotaru wanted to care for people. To hold life in value.

"What if you could?" asked Reborn.

Hotaru hummed to stall for time while she thought. It would be convenient, she thought, but by then she wouldn't exactly be a nurse, more of someone who could magically heal injuries. There wouldn't exactly be much nursing going on – just treating injuries. That was assuming that her ability would be accepted in the medical world as it was right now. It was a frustration she heard Mamoru had sometimes, she heard. Even Ami, too, though less for her because her powers did not directly heal.

And of course, there was the worst-case scenario – a witch hunt. That which came from the fear people had of the different.

Maybe it was cowardly of her to be so hesitant, but – Hotaru liked being accepted. She was still afraid of being rejected, still remembered too much the pain of being the 'freak'.

"Probably not," she ended up saying, and left the answer vague. She was fairly satisfied with healing those close to her if it would help. One day, when this world was able to accept magic as a part of their life, then that would be a different story, but as of now? No.

* * *

Shamal was, for all his ways, a genius. There was a reason why he was able to do as he wanted without bowing to anyone. Not everyone could afford themselves that kind of liberty, slipping past lines like they weren't held by such things. It was his skills that guaranteed such a life for him, that and his confidence and love of freedom.

Sometimes, it was hard to remember just why Trident Shamal could live like he did. Now was one of these times, and Hayato had to fight to keep himself from chucking the box of paper airplanes at his face.

"But I didn't even bring down one paper airplane!" he yelled, furious. At having folded all those papers into airplanes only to be told they were unnecessary. At his lazy attempt to evade completing the new move. At him telling Hayato now, because no way in hell would a hitman have just let down his guard and ignored Hayato, even if he was folding paper. That jackass-

"You still don't understand, like I've been saying over and over again," Shamal interrupted his inner fury. "Strong willpower's good and all that, but that's not what really matters. It's like hitting on a girl."

What the hell did that nonsense even mean?!

But Shamal wasn't going to let that simile go. "Do you know what the most important thing is, when hitting on a girl?"

Hayato wasn't going to answer that. He wasn't. Stupid comparisons, stupid Shamal, this was so stupid-

". . . Sex appeal?"

Shamal had the nerve to sigh, but he explained before Hayato could explode.

"It's this," he said, tapping a finger against his head. "You use your _brain_ to charm women. All the good looks and sex appeal in the world isn't going to help you if you've got nothing up here. But use your brains and charm a woman through wits? There isn't a woman in the world that won't fall for that."

Hayato doubted that. Yamamoto had nothing but baseballs in his brain, and the dumb girls at school still screeched like banshees over him. "Can't you just get to the point and teach me?!"

Shamal scoffed. "That again. I'm not telling you the answer."

"Why?!"

Shamal's lazy smirk slipped out of sight, to be replaced with a sharp, serious glint in his dark eyes – the one that said this wasn't the womanizer with easy charm and smiles, but Trident Shamal, who had the skills to survive despite being known. There were only two kinds of famous people in the world they were from – the kind that didn't stay alive long after achieving fame, and the type that did and became legends. "Because in the world you and I live in, only those who depend on themselves to think about how to live can find ways to survive."

It was a rebuke, and Hayato recognized it.

"My dumb friends, idiots that they were, blindly believed in everything they were told, and now they're all dead. You want to know who's still alive? Defiant idiots with some kind of secret ambition who looked out for themselves. Use that brain of yours and actually think, because as long as the move is incomplete, I'm not letting you go to the match."

One of the Trident Mosquitos buzzed around his head, and it was a threat from a hitman who used diseases and insects as his weapons of choice. It would be easy to knock Hayato out of commission with all the diseases Shamal had at his disposal.

"You can't do that!" he snapped. They were already behind. The Sky and Lightning Rings were in the hands of the Varia. He needed to win this, and if he wasn't even there, then there was no chance at all.

"I can," said Shamal, nothing about him about to budge on the matter, even if he had to resort to tying up Hayato with a sickness. "And more importantly, I will, because if you go in like this, it would be suicide. Your opponent tonight is Belphegor, the genius of the Varia. And right now, as you are? You don't stand a chance."

* * *

Hotaru wasn't sure what, exactly, she was expecting of watching the battles. Maybe a fighting ring, like the one Kyoko's brother had been in. Watching from the outside, hidden by an illusion.

She should have realized, from when it was in Namimori Junior High, that the actual thing would surpass whatever she had expected.

"Is this movie night?" Sailor Mars asked, eying the setup with no small amount of incredibility, and Saturn found herself in complete synchronicity with her mood.

Kawahira looked up from his seat in one of the three comforters, In front of him, a large screen streamed a video feed. If she didn't know, Hotaru might have really thought it was a set-up for movie night.

"It could be?" he said, and in his hands manifested a paper bag filled with popcorn, the scent of hot butter filling the air with its appearance. Out of habit, Saturn checked if it was an illusion. It was, and yet even after she realized it, the bag of popcorn didn't fade away.

"A real illusion?"

"Exactly." Kawahira took a popcorn kernel and popped it into his mouth. "Zero calories, but all the fun for your palate. I used to use this trick back when sugar was being harvested by slave labor. Boycott unethical sugar while get all the sweets you could want, no worries about rotten teeth or upset stomachs. Or calories, though that wasn't really a worry back then like it is now."

He was vaguely rambling about something interesting from his past, which meant he was deflecting. Hotaru decided to point it out indirectly. "Since when did you care about calories?"

"Since my blood pressure's been on the high side recently," he said. "Old men have to watch what they eat."

Mars took the seat on the other side, leaving Saturn to take the one in the middle. "Tonight's battle is indoors, then?"

Kawahira offered her some of the illusion popcorn, but the sailor soldier of fire shook her head. Shrugging, Kawahira turned the bag towards Saturn. "Indeed. The Storm Battle is taking place in the third floor of the school building."

Out of curiosity, Saturn took some of the popcorn. It didn't break, not in the way illusions did, but if she focused and kept breaking its hold, then while it held its form, it was no longer popcorn.

Instead, it was some kind of . . . constructive magic. Which meant that illusions were placed, but these were a kind of base, to give them a solid presence in reality.

Saturn rubbed it between her fingers, and then popped it into her mouth. Sure enough, there was no flavor.

She stopped breaking the illusion and tried eating the other kernel. The taste of popcorn, with liberally sprinkled butter and salt filled her mouth. Interesting.

"Why is this battle taking place in the school building?" Mars asked, eyes glinting critically. The cameras showed the floor from different viewpoints, and all the screen showed was an empty school building at night. Like all buildings that were most familiar when full of people, the empty classrooms, desks and hallways, as well as the darkness that came from the night, made it a sight invoking chills down her spine.

Kawahira shrugged. "The Cervello are weird."

Which was the understatement of the century.

"It doesn't look like tonight's battlers are here yet . . ." he trailed off. "Brief background, then. Tonight is the Storm Battle, because the seven friends had a weather theme going on back then and it stuck as a tradition that was passed down and around."

The popcorn swirled into indigo mist that grew into a miniature figure of one of the seven men from the previous night. The one with red hair and the eye-catching facial tattoos.

Kawahira squinted at the illusion. "Come to think of it, he was fairly annoying as well. Not nearly as much as He Who Will Not Be Named, but plenty annoying in his own way."

Now he was being dramatic. Hotaru indulged him, if only because she still remembered him being so nervous, he looked ready to vomit the other night. "In what way?"

He sighed theatrically. "Oh, you know. Threatening to shoot me up with enough arrows to make me a human porcupine if I so much as laid a finger on his friend. He had such a temper, like he was _trying_ to embody the stereotype about redheads and poor patience. Silvia had terrible taste in men."

"Who's Silvia?" Saturn asked, curious at the name-dropping and wondering if it was a name of another original guardian. It wasn't a name that was familiar to her, not from him.

"A co-worker from that time. Human, but I was fond of her. She was in love with him, and vice versa, but circumstances made it so that it just didn't work out." Kawahira scowled, and it was clear that while he might have said 'circumstances', he placed much if not most of the blame on the redheaded man. "Bastard."

Saturn held back from commenting on just how much he looked like a father disapproving of the bad boy that his daughter had brought back home. "What happened?"

The scowl faded, like bright colors on clothes left outside too long – as if it was worn away by the exposure to the sunlight and rain, and by time.

"We fell out of touch after Sephira died and I left," he said softly. "And by the time I recovered, she was also dead."

* * *

The battle started late, with Gokudera arriving just in the nick of time.

Saturn quickly learned that just like the silver-haired boy, the entire field – the school floor – was explosive as well. Wind turbines would randomly blow hurricanes through the field.

"Why?" Mars asked, bewildered at this indoor storm. Saturn didn't blame her. Even for Namimori this was on the weird side. Gokudera and his opponent – a boy around their age, with golden hair that hid his eyes – stepped into their arena while everyone else stayed out.

"Hell if I know," said Kawahira, as Gokudera started off the battle with a barrage of dynamites.

Mars didn't let it go. "Are the Cervello capable of lying?"

Saturn wondered that as well, as she began routing out just how to step in should Gokudera be at risk of dying.

"Not to Chiba Mamoru, or to me. They did not speak falsely, I assure you. That is one of their few – very few – redeeming qualities."

The smoke on the screens cleared, and Gokudera was encircled by a ring of metallic objects all flying towards him. He saw, and just narrowly dodged as they all came together where he'd been standing.

"Those are _knives_ ," Mars hissed, and Saturn tried to see for herself, when Gokudera threw a larger barrage of dynamite. "And _bombs_."

And his opponent just – stood there. Saturn's eyes widened in horror.

Mars began to leap to her feet, letting out a strangled sound from her throat, when the storm turbines struck. A barrage of the small, concentrated hurricanes blasted the dynamites well away from him, keeping him safe while blowing up the walls and windows the winds directed to.

Heart hammering away, Saturn's fists clenched and unclenched. "Was that just luck?"

"No," Mars answered, as Gokudera threw himself to the ground and covered his head as the storm also tried to sweep him away. His was a less graceful evasion than his opponent's, but at least he was unhurt. "He sensed it somehow and used it to his advantage."

Gokudera suddenly scrambled backwards, hitting his back against a window and falling into the classroom amidst broken pieces, but Saturn saw the blood spurting from his legs, and the weirdly shaped knives that had pierced through the still-howling storm in the halls.

And from then on, it was no longer Gokudera on the offensive. As if to return the favor for the earlier barrages of dynamite, knives flew towards the silver-haired boy with unerring accuracy, only narrowly missing out on making critical wounds because of Gokudera's last-second reactions. The injuries grew, one by one.

"He needs to get to some cover," Mars said tightly. She slowly sank back into her seat, but her eyes were on the battle. This was more than the cool, collected shrine maiden that dealt with poorly-mannered visitors – this was Mars, soldier of war, who knew how to read a battle. "At this rate he won't be able to counterattack, and he'll lose what calm he has under the pressure."

As if the words of the sailor soldier of war had reached him somehow, Gokudera set off an explosion and used it as cover to duck behind a wall, out of sight. Saturn watched him ready his dynamite when Mars stiffened.

Knives cut through the tops of the dynamite, rendering them harmless.

Saturn checked, and no, his opponent was still in the hallway. Gokudera should not have been visible, by any means. There were no mirrors, no screen the blond could use to monitor him, and the knives would have had to make a sharp curve to reach the dynamite.

"An illusion?" Saturn guessed, but even as she guessed, she couldn't feel for anything to break.

The expert on illusions shook his head.

The second time that the blades swerved in the air, Mars figured it out. "His opponent is using wire to guide his knives."

"As a weapon _and_ a tool." Kawahira looked impressed, even as Gokudera took the knives to his left arm. "A skilled one."

Saturn looked at Kawahira, asking with her expression whose side he was on.

"Neutral," he said as a way of explanation. "Also, I may or may not have wanted to punch Gokudera Hayato's pre-incarnation a few times back then."

"That's the furthest thing from neutral," commented Mars dryly.

"Not so," Kawahira argued back, in the way the pedantic did. "I hold Gokudera Hayato no particular ill will or grudge, just his previous life."

For all that he was hotheaded, Gokudera was smart. He was roughened up, but he eventually figured it out and let the blades launched at him sink into a dummy instead.

Saturn quietly released the breath she'd been holding. If it had not been for Kawahira's words, then she knew that Cervello be damned, she would be doing something reckless.

Actually, if it weren't for the resolve she had witnessed for herself, she might have just done that, regardless.

* * *

Near the end, so close to his objective, he'd made a mistake and let his guard down. Paying the price for his carelessness, Hayato struggled to make up for the sure victory that slipped from his hands. He didn't have the strength for a decisive win, and neither did Belphegor, but if the psycho wasn't going to give up, then he sure as hell wasn't.

"The ring," panted Belphegor like he was Gollum. That punch to the face hadn't done enough, and Hayato couldn't spare another punch, not when he was trying to keep him from getting his half of the Storm Ring. "Give me the ring."

"Fuck you!"

Explosions began going off in the background, and it wasn't his bombs going off.

 _"The estimated time until the library's detonation is one minute,"_ droned the voice of a Cervello.

Hayato managed to get on top of Belphegor, but then the blonde pushed, and then they were rolling across broken glass and wood, trying to get the advantage and the half-ring from each other.

 _"Get out of there, octopus head!"_

"What the _hell_ do you think I'm trying to do?!" he shouted back, because the peanut gallery wasn't as helpful or wise as they thought they were being.

When they bumped into a shelf, it was falling, and Hayato let Belphegor take the top and the brunt of the impact. It meant, unfortunately, that while he was shielded from the shelf hitting him, he was squished with not just the weight of the shelf, but also Belphegor. The air was knocked out of his lungs and Hayato wheezed.

For a moment, his sight went dark, and Hayato panicked. Somehow, he and Belphegor scrambled out from under the shelf and the fallen books, but it hadn't been just the debris that made him see what he had. His eyes were getting hazy, and he was near his limit.

 _"Forty-five seconds remain,"_ droned the Cervello.

Try as he might, Hayato couldn't see a way to get the ring from Belphegor while keeping his in that short time frame.

At least, not alive.

But alive didn't have to mean victorious, necessarily. Right?

 _"Give the enemy your ring and pull back, Hayato_!" barked Shamal, as if he'd read his mind.

He respected the older hitman, but there were some things Hayato couldn't accept, and that was one of them. "Don't joke around!"

 _"Dying for something like this is idiotic,"_ Shamal snapped, as Hayato tried to push Belphegor's head away from him. His opponent had the same idea, and it was a struggling race for the same objective. _"Come back!"_

Hayato appreciated the doctor looking out for him, but he couldn't. "If I lose, it's one win and three losses!"

And those were odds that did not speak well for them. Superbi Squalo was still left, as was Xanxus and that weird robot thing. The first was definitely strong, the second was the boss of the Varia and the third a wild card.

They couldn't afford any more losses at this point, because that meant they were out of chances. He'd rather die than give the Tenth another burden.

 _"Your opponent's broken! It's not even a real fight anymore!"_

Easy for Shamal to say. The frustration lit a fire inside, and he began to push back, gaining some ground over Belphegor. There wasn't much time, but maybe –

"If I win, we can turn the tide!" Yamamoto, Hibari and one unknown. Risks that any good right-hand man wouldn't allow to threaten his boss.

This, he could do. He _would_ do.

 _"Gokudera!"_

 _"Octopus-head!"_

Amidst worried cries and violent explosions, the bland voice of the Cervello stood out. _"Twenty seconds until the detonations reach the library."_

" _Hayato_!" snarled Shamal. " _Did you forget what I taught you before training started?"_

He had the upper hand now, on top of Belphegor. He just needed that little extra bit.

No, he hadn't forgotten that what he missed seeing was his own life. He was grateful to Shamal for pointing that out to him, letting him see it.

But knowing that was why Hayato could use it now, when it was most important and needed.

"I can't back down now!" he shouted back. "Even if I die!"

Because someone had given him worth, and if he let that someone down, then –

 _"Knock it off!"_ shouted the person who first gave him meaning _. "Why do you think we're fighting?!"_

Hand on Belphegor's chain, wrist held in an iron grip, Hayato froze. It was one thing to go against Shamal, but another thing entirely to go against the words of Sawada Tsunayoshi.

 _"We're going to have snowball fights and watch fireworks together!"_ shouted the Tenth, and from anyone else Hayato might have scoffed, but from the Tenth, it was pointing out the reasons why his life had meaning. What had given his life color, and happiness.

Joys of an ordinary life that he'd never really known before prior to this, all at the side of the man he would lay down his life for.

The kind of man who didn't want to but would fight, strive to grow stronger, because of simple but happy things like that.

 _"If you die, it's all meaningless!"_

He didn't want to die, not really. But at the same time, when his life had no meaning, it was hard to come up with a reason for why he should live – a bastard kid who ruined his own mother's life and didn't know until she was long dead.

Sawada Tsunayoshi, rightful heir to the Vongola, gave him a reason to want to live, and even now, when he was willing to die for him, told him that to do so would be meaningless.

Hayato let go and retreated just as the library exploded.

* * *

Mars released a sigh of relief. "He's fine. Well, he's alive."

Saturn opened her eyes, eyes that she had clenched shut when the explosions went up around the library and hid everything in the dust and dirt flying in the air. It hadn't looked like Gokudera would leave, but Tsuna's words had gotten through.

Kawahira huffed. "Well, even in his previous life, he always was a stubborn bastard."

But he looked relieved as well, releasing the crumpled part of his clothing that he'd been clutching.

Saturn began to get to her feet when Gokudera swayed and had to be supported by the others.

"Wait," said Kawahira. "The next match."

" _Tomorrow's match_ ," announced the Cervello. " _Will be the match between the guardians of Rain."_

The weather names, as Kawahira put it, meant little to her, but the reactions told her what she needed to. On the screen, Takeshi looked to the silver-haired man, and there was a light of challenge in his eyes. The kind he got when he saw something that got his competitive spirit fired up.

Kawahira confirmed it with a sigh. "Yamamoto Takeshi's match is up tomorrow."

In other words, in less than twenty-four hours, it was going to be Takeshi in the arena, Takeshi fighting like Gokudera had tonight.

And the long-haired man grinned wildly, all teeth. " _I've been waiting for this! You better not run when you remember how badly I beat you last time, kid!"_

Mars frowned in disapproving scorn. "No sane grown man should ever look so excited talking about beating a kid."

At that Kawahira laughed, the sound a little startled.

Takeshi, in response to that, smiled like he didn't have a care in the world. " _Nothing to worry about there."_

Saturn groaned at his too-cheerful competitive spirit, and Mars gave her a look of pity.

"If he's up tomorrow, and he's using the sword," she suggested, remembering what Saturn told them. "Then maybe Venus should come tomorrow instead of Mercury."

That was a good idea. As good as an idea could be in this situation.

Kawahira stood, and stretched, grimacing at the cracking sound his back made. On screen, Hibari Kyoya appeared, looking immensely annoyed at the state of the school.

"Is he the . . . ?" Saturn trailed off, remembering the second lookalike.

Kawahira nodded. "He's probably inherited the Cloud position. If I may suggest, perhaps Sailor Mercury should attend the Mist battle."

"Why? Who's that?"

He shrugged. "It _was_ the position of the annoying one, back then, but more importantly, that one will be a battle of illusions."

Despite herself, Saturn found curiosity sparking at that. "Illusionists like you?"

"Not on my level," he said, like it was fact rather than anything to be particularly proud of. "But yes."

"When is the Mist Battle?" asked Mars, who had a better sense of priority than Saturn. Her communicator was already open, connected to Luna and Artemis.

"I don't know," said Kawahira. "Either the day after Yamamoto Takeshi's match, or the day after that. The Cervello draw lots to decide the battle order, except for the last match," he added at the look Mars shot him for his vague answer. "So it's one of those two days."

Mars accepted the answer. "You heard him."

" _I have both nights off_ ," said Mercury.

 _"And I can take whatever day Mercury doesn't,"_ added Jupiter.

On the screen, Takeshi side-stepped Hibari's swipe. The movement was smooth, and flawless – the kind of reaction that Venus had spent weeks drilling her to emulate, and only partially succeeded.

It impressed – to an extent – even the silver-haired swordsman and Hibari Kyoya. It impressed Saturn, too.

But was it enough to lay off her worries?

No.

"At least tonight's results reassured me of one thing," Kawahira murmured as Mars discussed with Venus tonight's match, and the environment. Saturn should have paid attention to Venus raising questions as to whether the fields were set up to manipulate the outcomes, but Kawahira's comment distracted her.

"Of what?"

Kawahira nodded at the screen where the Cervello were. "If nothing disrupts their vision, then everyone who fights from here on, on the side of your friends, will win."

Including, Saturn realized what he was trying to say, Takeshi.

"Takeshi's pre-incarnation wasn't someone who annoyed you?" she asked, after swallowing.

"No. We were friends, actually."

"What?"

Kawahira made a show of looking down at his wrist, bare of anything, including watches. "Oh, look at the time. I should get going."

"Uncle!"

"See you tomorrow evening?"

"Uncle, get back here!"

Naturally, he did not listen, and Saturn reached out only to grab at thin air as he dissipated into indigo flames.

* * *

AN: Reborn just missed out a chance to have Kawahira/Checker Face be chewed out by Hotaru, but he doesn't know that, so.

Hotaru doesn't suspect that Lambo would have participated in the fighting because she never even considered it, and subconsciously she trusts that these battles will be 'reasonable' (as reasonable as it can be) because Kawahira implicitly vouched for them and she trusts him.

The Hotaru wanting to be a nurse is canon (from her manga profile) so I just took that and ran with it because I was in nursing school when I started writing Petrichor. And now I'm in the middle of applying so hopefully by the next update I'll be able to say I'm working as a nurse.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

From Tsuna's POV:

Reborn, taking full advantage of his shape: It was scawwy.

Tsuna, who has suffered a lot because of Reborn: yeah, that is the scariest thing I've ever seen *shudders*

Hotaru: *under the wrong impression* oh I'm so sorry I shouldn't have made you think of bad memories here let me fix your friend for you.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Kawahira: His pre-incarnation was so rude, threatening to shoot me.

G: *threatened to shoot Sergio because of his attitude to Giotto; received his own number of death threats because of his relationship with Silvia* eXCUSE ME-

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~


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